Two Full Glasses of Wine and an Unopened Bottle of Whisky
by CircleSky
Summary: (Spoilers for A Year in the Life.) With this short story, I'm attempting to fix a startling omission in the revival. Is it AU or simply some unaired scenes within canon? You be the judge. Fair warning, this doesn't solve the problems of the revival's cliffhanger, only compounds them. If you're gonna end in a cliffhanger, you might as well go all out!
1. Summer Prologue

**Summer Prologue...**

Things hadn't gone as Jess had planned. He'd come for his mother who'd gotten mixed up in a ridiculous plot of _vegetable_ proportions, fully expecting to leave town the moment they'd gotten the whole silly, leafy-green mess sorted out.

It was Rory's town after all— _and Luke's, Lorelai's, Liz and TJ's, and Taylor's_. It certainly wasn't Jess's town and he'd tended to avoid it when he'd had forewarning that Rory would be there. Although the few times they'd shown up in the same place at the same time had always been pleasant enough, there had remained a certain amount of discomfort there for Jess. The place was filled with too many memories of Rory and too many people could read the signs of it upon his face.

But, as it turned out, his sister Doula was pretty cool for a ten-year-old. One afternoon not long ago, she'd decided it was time to show Jess her "most favourite spot in all of Stars Hollow." Without ever knowing the irony, she'd practically dragged him to the idyllic setting of Larson's Pond. There they'd collected stones, the smoothest ones they could find, and Jess had spent the afternoon teaching her the fine art of skipping them across the water's glossy surface until she'd (almost) mastered it. The girl had the wildest imagination, like most children of ten, Jess assumed. The two would often swap stories, the tallest of tales they each could muster, which usually resulted in Doula deciding to write the best ones down, just like her big brother did.

In recent years Jess had also learned that, when he offered Liz and TJ his company more freely, his mother became less clingy and more bearable. In giving of himself, she didn't (have to) try quite so hard and so didn't smother him with unnecessary doting. Without the rampant smothering, Jess was able to see his mother more objectively, often as though for the first time. TJ was still an acquired taste that Jess hadn't quite acquired but it turned out Liz had more in common with Jess than he'd ever realized before.

And now this summer, four years after their last crossing of paths, Jess had delved in deeper with Rory than his guard had previously allowed. She'd pulled a bottle of Scotch and a handy second glass out of the drawer of her new desk at the Stars Hollow Gazette and, though their conversation had still been woefully short and maybe a little distant, they'd had their longest talk in years.

It was good. It relaxed him. It was the final piece of the puzzle falling into place, reminding him that things would be alright. The past could be put behind them, tucked deeply into their hearts next to countless memories, fond or otherwise, of all the people who had come and gone in their separate lives. They could coexist, even in this small, nutty space that she called her hometown, without having to tip-toe or share painfully superficial conversation. He didn't have to avoid visits that coincided with hers. They could just _be_.

Knowing _that_ , and coupled with his brand new sense of familial affinity, Jess could finally lay claim to Stars Hollow as his own quirky hometown. It was a comfortable, warm feeling, a feeling of belonging, and once he'd felt it, _that_ was when he'd decided to stay for a while.

He'd long been released from the specter of what could have—but would never—be. But it was only this summer, as he'd shot the shit with Rory over a couple of glasses of Scotch, that he'd finally become comfortable with what _was_ : a fledgling friendship and nothing more.

Rory had not been in a good headspace that day. Once again Jess had been surprised to find himself on steadier footing than the darling of academia. It was stunning considering her trajectory when he'd known her all those years ago—how her path, at one time so steady and true, had taken such a bizarre, meandering turn.

So starved had she been for any sense of direction, she'd taken almost immediately to his suggestion that she write a book. (It was the best and only advice he could offer her. After all, his own process had worked wonders for him.)

He'd left her at that, wishing her the best and hoping her trajectory would once again aim for the stars, content that their paths would diverge as time would see fit.

After a week or two he'd briefly returned home to Philadelphia to tend to his life—any adult would tell you that that's what you sometimes had to do.

But before long, the trees had shuffled their green and Jess had returned to Stars Hollow to witness the annual spectacle of red and gold with new, unjaded eyes. And once again he'd stayed, longer than he'd planned, finding calm and inspiration in all the corners of his world, and gaining perspective on his happy life, both at home in Philadelphia and in his new-found hometown of Stars Hollow.


	2. Wine in October

**Wine in October...**

Jess tossed his papers down on Liz and TJ's coffee table and checked the date on his wristwatch. He knew the guys at Truncheon hoped he'd return soon.

Business was good and Truncheon was happily hectic. Even still, the guys had seen that change in Jess, the one where he stopped being content to simply edit the work of others and longed instead to write his own story. His friends were encouraging and occasionally selfless. It didn't hurt, however, that they believed Jess had another Subsect-caliber piece inside him, one that could become another flagship for their beloved printing house. That was why Jess could afford to spend so much of the autumn in his hometown.

His book was coming along, more lengthy and daring than its predecessor, but it wasn't Subsect-caliber yet.

Jess rubbed his eyes and lay back on the couch, the cushions collecting the aching muscles of his neck and shoulders. Once Jess had attained such a marvellous state of comfort, _of course_ came the knock at the door.

Jess groaned. He practically rolled off the couch like a log in his disgruntledness, so averse to being off of the couch and onto his feet that he delayed the eventuality of sitting and standing as long as he possibly could.

His demeanour changed completely, however, when he found Rory Gilmore on the front steps. He felt her presence like a zap of static on a doorknob as he blinked his bleary eyes. She'd never visited him at Liz and TJ's. He hadn't even known she knew the address.

"Hey," he said with a small, puzzled smile.

"Jess!" she cried, a dazzling look of utter elation on her face. He laughed as she unexpectedly sprang into his arms for a quick hug.

"Hi," he said then, having extricated himself, " _You're_ happier than the last time I saw you."

"Jess," she swooned and laughed at herself, "I have been so busy and so, so happy. I had to tell you all about it." She pulled a bottle of wine out of her messenger bag and tapped on it with a free finger. "I have _you_ to thank. This is to celebrate! Oh," she added more reservedly, "Can I come in?"

"Yeah. Yeah," he encouraged with a laugh, stepping back, and she entered the oddly furnished room.

"What are we celebrating?" he asked as she followed him deeper into the home. His new mission for glassware brought them both into the kitchen.

"I've finally done something that feels right. It feels like fire in my chest!" she ranted. "Fire or electricity! I can't decide. I haven't felt so alive or with such purpose since I was a kid. You!" She pointed. "Your idea! It's brought me back to life!"

Jess laughed self-deprecatingly. "Well that's me: Dr. Frankenstein, at your service. I'm glad you're so happy but… Doula's asleep down the hall. I'm babysitting. Could you…?"

The volume of her voice dropped immediately. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's OK. I don't think we woke her." He pulled a couple of mismatching wine glasses from the cabinet and gestured to the living room. "Shall we?"

"Let's," she enthused, following him back into the living room and observing it for the first time. "There are a lot of couches in here."

He wryly agreed. "What can I say? It's Liz and TJ. How about this one?" He led her to the blue couch between the window and the lone coffee table. This couch was overstuffed and suede and he'd long-since decided it was the most comfortable of all the many couches littering Liz and TJ's eclectic home.

"It's perfect!" she enthused mildly. She placed her messenger bag at her feet and they sat down at opposite ends, turned towards one another, each with a bent leg tucked underneath themselves.

"I brought it Jess," she said as she poured some wine into each glass.

"Brought it?"

"The first two chapters." She passed a wine glass to him which he accepted graciously.

"So you _have_ been writing then."

She picked up her own wine glass and then promptly ignored it, instead she just held it thoughtfully and took a deep satisfying breath. "Yes!" she swooned again. Then, without taking a single sip of wine, she placed the glass back on the coffee table.

She pulled a stack of papers, not unlike Jess's own, out of her messenger bag. "I wanted to show you." She held the pages under his nose and then hugged them to her chest. "Of course I can't let you read it. Not yet. I think my mom should read it first. A lot of it has to do with her, and all I've learned from her, both good and bad. But, I just like holding it." She shimmied a little bit, still hugging the stack of papers tightly. "And I wanted to show you. There's a lot more work to do but I'm just so proud of what I've done so far."

"Can I see?"

"Just the cover page," she said severely.

He nodded seriously but smirked in amusement. She gingerly held the pages towards him. To honour the reverent nature of the exchange, he also placed his untasted wine on the coffee table before accepting the pages from her.

True to his promise, he didn't open the pages, only rotated the stack until the title faced him. The stack was quite thick, maybe forty or fifty pages he guessed, and apparently printed off of a computer. If the text were an average point size, that would make the contents of those first two chapters fairly lengthy already. Jess was impressed; she'd been busy indeed. " _The Gilmore Girls_ ," he read with reverence, proud of her accomplishment. Despite himself, he slipped into editor mode, "You should drop the _The_."

"What?"

"Never mind. Just an occupational hazard. Tell me more."

"Well… I started thinking about it right after the last time we spoke. You put a bee in my bonnet, Jess. I just couldn't stop thinking about it. And then, about a week later, I already had an outline for _five_ chapters! Of course I didn't start actually writing until about a week ago. I, uh, had a bit of a... setback," she began somewhat sadly but then continued with new conviction, "But, even with the setback, I couldn't put it out of my mind."

She proceeded to tell him, in dramatic stage-whispers, about the week she'd spent in deep introspection in her grandfather's darkened study—with crystal clear visions and new perspectives coming to her, both of life in her mother's home and that in her own—and the two chapters that had poured out of her, the seven more she'd plotted since. She didn't give him details of the contents, reiterating once again (to his amusement) that her mother should be the first to read it.

Her voice became soft with introspection. "In writing this book… I…" she began slowly, "I did a lot of thinking. I thought about things I've pushed aside for many years. People have said it time and again but only just this past week have I truly taken it to heart and applied it to my life. It's true: You can pack all that emotional stuff away—the memories of the good times, the hardships and turmoil—but it turns out when you pack it, you still just end up carrying the figurative boxes, lugging them from one metaphorical apartment to another.

"If you ever want to keep new stuff and move on with your life, eventually you have to just open up an old box of memories and see what's in there. Really look at it. Evaluate it.

"Sure, you dust a few things off and keep them but, turns out, after enough time passes, you realize half of the stuff in there you can just let go of. Throw it out; recycle it; give it away." She digressed, "Not that anybody wants to receive a metaphorical box of old emotional crap but you get what I'm saying."

She leaned against the back of the couch, drooping dramatically sideways like a rag doll while still maintaining eye contact. "The catharsis, Jess! It's like this big heavy weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I realized even the good memories can weigh you down if you don't downsize the boxes once in awhile!"

She summarized enthusiastically, "Jess, I've spent the last three weeks emptying a bunch of boxes and I've never felt so light!"

Jess's breath came fast and furious, as though he were the one who'd just spoken a mile a minute. But he'd sat silently, smiling and following right along with her every word and taking each one to heart. He had some boxes if his own, he knew. And though, in recent years, he'd done his own fair share of emotional downsizing, he knew he still had some work to do. He could take great inspiration from this fiery creature enthusing not five feet from him. He was amazed by her transformation from the stressed, shell of herself he'd seen a couple short months ago, into this mariposa of life.

He placed her manuscript on the table next to his own and reached for their glasses still sitting virtually untouched. "Well this _is_ cause for celebration then."

He handed her a glass and they toasted lightly to new beginnings, she with her new project and awakening, and he with his. The wine was dry, the way Jess liked it, and he smiled. To his surprise, after her single sip of wine, she placed the glass on the table again and turned to him with an intense, no-nonsense expression.

"I wanna write about you," she said softly, a sheepish question in her eyes, nervousness in her voice. "I'll change the names. Don't worry about that. But I have to write about you. You're so important to my story." She stopped there, pausing to chew on her lip. Jess knew she was asking for his permission.

He gave pause. Into his void of speech, she volunteered a long stream of consciousness, "You brought something out in me. I'd never felt such intense love and desire until I met you. To be honest, it scared the hell out of me sometimes.

"If I had've been smart, I would've emptied the box of emotional Dean crap I was lugging around way back then and really committed to us, to you and me. But I wasn't particularly smart about it and I didn't realize then that I was ready to let go of the past with him and jump into the future with you. He was just so safe though. So, so safe. He played the part so well.

"And you never played the part," she said warmly. "You were more than that. You were always yourself, exactly who you needed to be, and I never realized that that was better than any role you could have ever played, because it was real."

Jess was genuinely touched but more than a little bit embarrassed. "Rory you don't have to say all this…"

"I want to Jess. I never said it. I never told you. Not when we were dating, or at the firelight festival or at Yale. Not when we kissed that night at Truncheon and I let you believe that Logan was the only one I loved. I loved you deeply. A part of me has always loved you, Jess. That part of me always will. You deserve to know that. I _want_ you to know that. Our relationship was important to me, so incredibly important. I don't know if you ever knew that but I'm telling you now."

She'd gradually leaned forward to punctuate her sentiment but then seemed to snap out of her trance. "I'm sorry I'm so introspective tonight. Like I said, I've been taking a good long look at myself lately. I've pored over the stuff in my Jess box, obviously. Not my actual, physical Jess box but my emotional one."

She leaned back against the couch again, as though satisfied at long last, and added conversationally, "You know, I've avoided you sometimes, ever since Philadelphia. Sometimes I'd have plans to come home to Stars Hollow but then I'd find out you were here and I'd go somewhere else instead. I just didn't know how to be around you with so much left unsaid and so much baggage between us. I was afraid to tackle it and instead I just took the familiar, safe, easy path, even though ultimately I knew it would lead to a dead end. Even though I missed you in my life, I was never sure how to make that work when I was just so bogged down by the metaphorical weight of your box and all of our unfinished business.

"Can I write about you?" she prodded softly.

Jess became aware of the pounding of his heart when he heard it in his ears. He placed his wine glass on the table to avoid spilling its contents on his favourite couch. He blinked several times. "I can't wait to read it," he acceded.

She sprang forward, placing her hands on his ankle, deep within his personal space. "Oh thank you, Jess! The story wouldn't be complete without you in it."

Jess looked down at her hands then up to her eyes, finding them equally surprised as his own must have been. The moment hit him suddenly but was slow once he became mired in it, lengthy enough to leave him light-headed and confused. He swallowed. She bit her lip. Suddenly, a thousand volts passed between them.

It had been years since he'd felt any spark between them. He hadn't even known he still _could_ feel a spark for Rory. Jess blinked in confusion.

Rory leaned back slowly; her hands trailed off of his leg and onto the couch cushion.

Not thinking about anything except this moment, Jess reached for her hand and, with curiosity for the potency of her touch, took it gently in his own. He traced the lines of her fingers; his thumb followed the curve of her fingernail. His gaze left her fingers to find her eyes, that brilliant blue. Though silent, his gaze was a question that he asked her, asked himself also. _Did you feel that?_

She answered for the both of them. She slid forward on the couch then, a shifting of couch cushions and equilibria, and then they were kissing, a gentle caress of delight and wonder. His one arm slipped around her waist while his other took residence in the soft, warm hair at the nape of her neck. Rory leaned forward until she'd draped herself against his chest and guided his torso down against the armrest.

Her soft lips nuzzled deeper until she'd taken his lip between them, a gentle suckle that roused him. Her tongue led the way and he followed happily.

After a moment, she murmured against his skin, apologetic, "I didn't come here to do this." She lifted away slightly. "I know how it looks, with the wine and everything, but it wasn't a plan."

He looked into her eyes, amazed by that particular light shining upon him that he'd never thought he'd see again. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear so he could see the light better.

"It's OK," he said lightly.

She took a deep breath, her features poignant with thought. "No strings? Just unfinished business?"

His eyes flashed with new knowledge of what this moment could be, what she seemed to be suggesting. "Are you with anyone?" he had to ask. It had happened before.

"What?" she murmured, "No... I'm not with anyone, no. Are you?"

"No."

She swallowed hard. "Do you want to… be with me tonight?" Her subtle shrug was sweet and bashful but her gaze was very intense.

Once again she'd zapped him, a delight and amazement arcing straight to his heart. He stared at her a moment before realizing she was still waiting for his response and he needed to answer her. He caught his breath finally but, before he could speak, she'd mumbled humbly, "I have… protection."

He smiled softly then, as a thought occurred to him, and he couldn't help but tease under his breath, "It's beginning to sound more and more like a plan."

She blushed but it was a happy glow, perhaps amused by how her own actions sounded. Something like a laugh followed it. "It wasn't," she breathed softly, "I promise. It's just... life… has taught me, it's a responsible thing to have."

"In case of moments like this one," he questioned, the question being more in the raise of his eyebrow than in the inflexion of his voice.

"Exactly." She looked at him expectantly, waiting still for his verdict. Seconds passed. He studied her face.

His answer, though truthful, surprised him, "Yes."

A wondrous smile coloured her features. She nodded and came back into his arms, pressing her beautiful weight against his body and her mouth back to his.

After a dazzling, heart-pounding moment he murmured, "Let's go to the spare bedroom."

"Yes," she breathed, nodding against his cheek and going in for one more kiss before stepping onto the floor and pulling him with her. They stumbled slightly down a hallway (a journey briefly interrupted by her quick return dash to retrieve her manuscript and messenger bag), leaving a forgotten bottle and two full wine glasses behind.

In the spare bedroom where he'd led, he turned on a small lamp and closed the door behind them. She dropped her papers by the lamp and kissed him against the door until he was senseless. Then she turned to lead him further into the room but stopped suddenly in his path when she saw what the room contained.

"There's a couch in here also," she said in surprise. She shifted a bit to the left and then uttered another epiphany, "There are two!"

He chuckled. "You're very astute." He nuzzled her neck until she turned into his arms. She laughed warmly as his mouth resumed its play beneath the lobe of her ear.

"But why?"

He shrugged happily, running his hands down her upper arms and pulling her close again. "It's Liz and TJ," was the best explanation he could offer. His lips were best put to uses other than summarizing the quirkiness of his mother.

Rory tilted her head to allow him access to her neck and with a firm hand behind his head, guided his lips against herself. "We could have just stayed where we were," she teased. He felt the hum of her voice box on his lips.

"Ah but these couches can't be seen from the front door," he murmured against her soft, sweetly scented neck.

"Oh… yes, privacy… even better..." She rotated their bodies and guided him closer to a couch, observing it. "Do they fold out?"

"No," he said simply, still savouring her jawline, familiar yet otherworldly, on a journey towards her waiting mouth which kissed him with fervour once he found it.

Between kisses she managed, "We could push them together, front-to-front. We'll have more room."

He stopped kissing her to mirror her smile brightly and gaze into her beautiful blue, shining eyes.

"More room, huh?" he asked, reading her thoroughly.

"To manoeuvre," she explained innocently but he raised an eyebrow until a slight blush coloured her pretty cheeks. It amazed him to witness it: a suggestive comment could still make her blush, even if the comment was her own.

He bit his lip to hide his smile and then regarded the couches more closely. Though mismatched, the couches were the same height.

"Huh. You know… when you're right, you're right," he agreed. Then he nodded suggestively. "We're gonna need the space."


	3. Bittersweet, Light to Full-Bodied

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who commented on the first two chapters! It is much, much, much appreciated! To answer a question, yes the couch thing was a nod to a line in the show. If Rory seemed "high" in the last chapter, then perhaps it's close to the truth. Pride in one's work, such as Rory is feeling here, can be a very potent natural high, especially after being as adrift and lost as Rory had been for a very long time.  
_

 **Bittersweet, Light to Full-Bodied...**

They lay there long into the wee hours, happily talking about anything and nothing much.

As the twilight began to brighten the lamp-lit room, he raised his arms and tucked his hands under his head, stretching luxuriously in the space they shared between the two couches. The most adorable, vivacious and effortlessly sexy woman he'd ever met was lying not a foot away from him, looking marvellously dishevelled and happy amongst a tangle of sheets.

It was ridiculous to think that it had taken him falling completely out of love with Rory to find himself here with her.

"I've learned something tonight," he said.

"What's that?"

"I've been sleeping on a single couch like a chump for weeks."

The two couches together amounted to little more than a twin bed but the setup still felt positively palatial compared to what he'd grown accustomed to at Liz and TJ's. Jess stretched again and sighed in contentment.

She laughed. "I told you it would be better to push them together."

"Why didn't you tell me that months ago?"

"How could you not know?" she pouted. "It's just so obvious."

He offered a hearty laugh. "Necessity is the mother of invention. Never had the necessity around here before."

"I'm glad I could show you the error of your ways."

"I'm glad too. You have no idea."

She laughed unexpectedly and shifted on the bouncy cushions, falling gently against him for a moment. "This was wonderful. You are wonderful," she said lightly and, despite himself, he thought fondly back to their first real kiss outside Gypsy's shop.

The feeling was so good; it almost hurt when he then heard the distress in the sound of her subsequent sigh.

He supposed this was the moment when reality reared its ugly head and Rory would leave; this fantasy would be over. He just hoped their friendship, perhaps forever altered by this night, wouldn't wither away completely under the harsh light of day.

But she stayed, only rolled slightly back on the uneven, unruly couch cushions to stare at the grubby, popcorn ceiling a long moment. Finally, she spoke.

"My mom doesn't want me to write this book. She wouldn't give me her blessing," she said mournfully to the ceiling. "I get it of course—it's also her _own_ story and she doesn't want me spilling her secrets for all the world to see—but we got into a huge fight about it almost two months ago at my grandfather's graveside and I haven't even spoken to her since then."

"Shit," he said, surprised and instantly crushed for the loss of the great Gilmore, mother-like-sister camaraderie (but simultaneously relieved that her disappointed sigh wasn't related to their major friendship-gaff).

"That sucks," he quietly commiserated.

"So I didn't work on it. I shelved the project. I had the first five chapters already outlined and ready to be written and I just put it away. She asked me to. So I did."

"But you didn't. There are two chapters over there that tell me otherwise."

"Exactly. I couldn't not write it, you know? I thought about it for a couple weeks and then I _really_ thought about it for a month more. And I started actually writing it about a week ago, without her permission, and I couldn't put it away. I couldn't! It just poured out of me! I couldn't stop it. And now I have this beginning to a contraband story sitting there and I'm so proud of it but I'm so afraid to show her and have her tell me how disappointed she is that I wrote it."

Now Jess sighed. "That's tough."

"I have to show it to her."

"You do." He nodded.

"I know."

Rory sighed again, but this time in determination. "She's out west right now but I'll show her as soon as she gets back."

"May as well," he agreed. "If you're ever gonna publish, you'll have to eventually." Rory turned to look at him then. There was just enough uncertainty on her face to prompt his next question, "You _were_ planning to publish it, right?"

"Of course." She plucked a practically non-existent piece of lint from the hem of the sheet. Eventually she added, "It's just kind of scary."

He nodded for a beat, understanding completely the sense of nakedness that came with baring one's thoughts for others to read. "I can help if you need it."

She nodded. "You're in the business."

"I am."

She rolled onto her side, propped up on her elbow and facing him squarely. "Thank you, Jess," she said quietly, her voice full of sincerity. "You're a good friend."

He nodded, smiled contentedly and then proceeded to full-out smirk. "With benefits, apparently."

"Aw!" she pouted a bit. "You just made it cheap."

"It's not cheap."

"No. It's not cheap at all." She again fiddled with the bed sheet between them, averting her eyes. "I... wasn't kidding before. A part of me... still loves you... and probably always will."

Jess smiled wistfully as her chaste eyes finally met his gaze. It was a nice sentiment—her loving him—but he could read between the lines. A _part_ of her loving him meant that she wasn't _in_ love with him. But in all the jumble of emotions his heart possessed, not a single emotion represented hurt over her statement. He knew exactly how she felt.

"I feel the same way, Rory." This night had been a sublime tribute to what they once were. A bookend of desire mirroring their early relationship and surrounding the friendship they now were sharing.

After a moment her own smile became thoughtful. "How will it be the next time we see each other?" she asked in passing.

His response was just as casual, "You'll drink way too much coffee and I'll watch, horrified and amazed."

"And you'll tease me relentlessly, smirking every thirty seconds."

"Yes. About coffee, your habit of stammering, and your cute little, unfortunate love of Indian food."

"Sounds perfect."

"I think so."

"And we'll be friends?"

"Of course," he said easily, really believing it to be true this time.

She sighed in happiness, dropping the side of her head back down to the pillow. "Good."

"Of course, if we're going back to being friends tomorrow then we'd better have sex again tonight."

"Oh yeah?" She smiled seductively. Her eyes flashed with blue humour.

"Unfinished business."

"Still?" She laughed. "Man! We've been so neglectful!"


	4. Whisky in November

A/N: Thanks to everyone for the kind words and encouragement! Sorry it took so long for this update, I've been away. Without further ado, here is the next installment…

 **Whisky in November…**

Jess slid down deep into the corner of Liz and TJ's blue couch and read over the computer printout of his most recent writing. Smiling, and nearly buzzing with pride, he made some final notes in the margins. He didn't know why he always edited on a print copy when he could more easily make his changes directly in the computer file. All he knew was there was just something so tangibly perfect about seeing his words in print—about jotting notes in his _own_ margins—especially once the book neared the finished product. He always did it this way.

The doorbell rang but, benevolently, it had waited until he was done with his task.

He gathered the pages neatly and tossed them lightly onto the scuffed table. He went to greet the person at the door with a gracious smile completely incongruent with his normally cool demeanour.

Seeing Rory Gilmore on the front step only served to broaden his smile. Had she finished more chapters also? He leaned slightly on the open door and thought how marvellous it was they were both on such a roll.

"Hey there!" he drawled. "How many chapters this time?" He stepped aside and welcomed her in.

"Oh. Jess," she said. She seemed surprised to see him, as if she hadn't expected him open his mother's door. "I haven't had much time for writing lately. My head's been completely foggy."

Jess blinked at her, his spirits taking a nosedive as soon as he noticed the expression on her face. She looked stressed, clearly not flying on the same natural high that he currently was.

His disappointment must have been evident because she seemed compelled to add, "My book is still just the sum total of the first three chapters. My mom still has them. I'll show you as soon as I get them back—if my mom is OK with that—I _wanna_ show you."

"Oh. OK." He nodded, still somewhat taken aback.

"I brought whisky," she said, pulling a bottle of Scotch out of her bag which he regarded with a raised eyebrow. That wasn't a particularly celebratory drink, he noted, considering her circumstances when they'd last shared some and the dark clouds in her eyes now.

"Sounds good," he said warily, heading for the kitchen cabinet. "Your mom got you pretty busy with the wedding plans?"

"Yeah. Very busy. It's good though. She and Luke have been so happy." Rory smiled at last, but it was a tiny smile.

He pulled two mismatched lowball glasses out of the cabinet.

"Just one glass," she interrupted. "I won't have any."

This evening's situation was eerily reminiscent of the night they'd shared about a month prior. The elements were similar but, whereas the first time she'd been exuberant with joy, this time around seemed to lack any shred of happiness on Rory's part.

They'd spoken a few times since that night—briefly when Rory had finished her third chapter, but mostly after Luke and Lorelai had announced their wedding via email—and, like that night, she'd seemed so happy, a stark contrast to their meeting last summer. The light in her eyes had flashed most brilliantly with relief and excitement the day she'd given her mother her chapters and Lorelai had agreed to read them.

But, to look at her now, she looked a little like she'd relapsed.

"Have you hit a snag with your book?" he said with sympathy. Jess knew how much of a drain writer's block could be. Or perhaps this was the ultimate block that she had feared—from an _outside_ source. "Is Lorelai dead-set against your finishing it?"

"Well, I still don't know if I have her blessing. But I'm not here to talk about the book, Jess."

He took a deep breath, trying to squelch the worry rising within but finding it a losing battle. He made a light fist and tapped the side of her upper arm with it. "What's going on?"

"Let's sit down. I've got some news." She smiled meekly, took the single glass from him, and the bottle, and led the way to the blue couch.

He sat down beside her, turned towards her. "You have news," he prodded when she still hadn't spoken.

"How about a drink?" she asked, placing the glass on the table and making a move to open the bottle of Scotch whisky.

"No thanks," he said.

"Okay." She bit her lip and, after spending a moment looking so completely lost it worried Jess to no small degree, she placed the bottle on the table as well.

Frustration got the better of him. "Out with it, Gilmore!"

"OK, OK." She smiled meekly then licked her lips. "Well… Jess… Maybe… You might be a father."

Jess blinked, momentarily confused and blindsided by her words. He hadn't expected that and yet—given the way she was now looking at him, given all the clues she'd offered tonight that were _so obvious_ to him now that he knew how to interpret them, given the fact of their dalliance one month prior and her coming to him now with severity in her eyes—it suddenly made perfect sense. He wondered why he hadn't figured it out immediately. "You're pregnant," he whispered.

"Yes."

Jess sat back against the couch, staring blindly at his incomplete manuscript and feeling the comfort of the cushion behind him, remembering a time when all he needed was a manuscript to complete and the comfort of a cushion.

Then semantics caught up with him. He regarded her closely. "Wait. You said I _might_ be a father? You might not be…?"

She shook her head sadly and glanced down briefly. "No," she said slowly. "I am. It's just…"

He nodded as another realization hit him. "I might not be the father."

"Yeah. There was another man, almost two weeks before… you and I…"

"You said you were single," he mumbled, not intending to be accusatory, just trying to understand.

"I was. I am. But… It was recent that he and I had broken things off."

"Oh."

"I've been to the doctor. I had an appointment today. She said there are some safe, prenatal paternity tests that can be done but it's still too early for that. In any case…"

Rory kept speaking, explaining what would happen next, he supposed. But Jess couldn't focus on anything except her eyes. That startling blue that had emitted such light over the past few weeks, until now. He gulped.

Now it seemed the light had been snuffed out. She looked tired and drawn, and her words told him why. His pulse ran quickly and he lost himself in sadness for the dullness in her eyes.

"You're pregnant," he rumbled, reiterating uselessly.

Rory looked at him with surprise, perhaps because he hadn't been following the conversation. "Yeah." As an afterthought she added, "Hey, could you not mention it to Luke yet? I don't want to tell my mom and Luke until after the wedding. It's their day. I don't want to trouble them with this."

Jess ran his fingers through his hair then placed his hands on the blue cushions on either side of his body. In distress, he replied listlessly, "Sure."

"Jess?" She placed her hand on his.

"What?" he asked, surprised.

"You want that drink now?" she was treating him with kid gloves, her eyes filled with pity.

"No."

"Oh, okay." She nodded thoughtfully then gestured to the bottle. She enthused gently, "Well it's yours. You can save it for celebrating, when it turns out you're off the hook!"

"No." He squeezed out a bitter laugh. "I wouldn't celebrate that."

"You wouldn't?"

"I don't know." He really didn't.

Suddenly all he could think about was that sweet but intriguing girl he'd once known, a bookish girl who would rather eat supper with her mother's friends than sneak out her bedroom window. She'd once worn a big, white ball gown with an incongruous jean jacket, to eat a greasy, late-night burger in a diner. That night, with her sportive wit, she'd clearly been amused from afar as Jess had teased his uncle, but her eyes had gone demure each time he'd caught her gaze. He'd never intended to put that girl on a pedestal but, many years later, he'd come to realize that was exactly what he'd done.

Now Jess recalled his surprise and delight when he'd gotten those _first inklings_ that that good, sweet girl liked him back. The "picnic" lunch they'd shared at Larson's Pond had stretched long beyond polite resignation and had dabbled in flirtation. That beautiful blush had crept up to her ears as her tongue had stumbled over whether or not he'd _like_ -liked her.

Jess thought back to a moment—during the spring when she'd once been his girlfriend—when he'd found her in the park beneath the lush new leaves of a tree, deeply intent on her book and smiling blissfully as her story unfolded. When he'd made his presence known, she'd looked up and her brightening smile had gone straight to his heart.

This was the girl he'd _loved_. So _strong_ had his love been, that he'd felt for many years afterward that no one could _ever_ love her like that teenaged boy had. A part of him still roiled at the idea that someone else might.

"Damn, Rory." He struggled to finish his thoughts, struggled to agree with his heart. "I hope it's mine." As soon as he said it, his heart rate tripled. Was that really true? _What?_

"What?" She laughed nervously and looked at him as though he were deranged. He began to feel as though he was. "You do?"

He took a deep breath quickly, feeling a tinge of hyperventilation.

"Jess, you don't mean that."

He sighed, trying to slow his breathing. "Look… I know we don't have that kind of relationship anymore. That ship sailed a long time ago. This is not some play for your affections. It's just—it would be so weird. The idea of you raising a child with someone else… despite everything, despite all the time passing, it still…" He rolled his eyes. "…breaks my heart a little," he mumbled.

She tried to interrupt then but his forceful words forged on, " _I know_ that's not fair. You have always had every right to move on. And _I've_ moved on, I promise you!"

She was looking at him incredulously, leaving him to wonder why he suddenly felt so possessive of a child and a life he wasn't even sure would be his own—and that he'd _never_ imagined he'd _ever_ be ready for anyway. He shook his head. "I know. It's stupid and selfish. It's just weird to think of you in such a… permanent relationship with someone else."

"Jess," came her sympathetic voice, accompanied by a pat on the knee. "There is no relationship. I won't be raising the child with him and I have no expectations of you either. My grandmother gave me a large sum of money from the sale of her house and I have an inheritance from my grandfather. I'm set. The baby is set. It's okay, Jess. Either way, you don't have to worry. I'm doing this alone." She began to outline the details of her plan.

A chill ran through him as she described how she planned to raise the child alone, as her mother had done. Through the buzz in his ears, he thought he heard something about a bucket and a hardware store which made no sense to him, given the context. She sat only a foot away from him but her voice was tinny, as though drifting over to him from a great distance, so profound was his disconnect from the conversation.

Some time later he realized she'd stopped speaking. She only sat, eying him with quiet concern.

"How can you be so calm about this?" he argued.

"You think I'm calm? My emotions are all over the place. One moment I'm crying and the next I'm excited and—and… jumping up and down like a madwoman. I've been tap-dancing like you wouldn't believe." She shook her head. "Mood swings, maybe… I suppose."

"Tap dancing?"

She nodded. "I tap dance now."

"I don't believe it." He shook his head.

"I know. It seems so out of character."

"No I mean, I don't believe what I'm hearing! You're seriously sitting there telling me you want to do this all by yourself?"

"Jess, it's not a slight. Please don't be offended. It's just, we've been living such separate lives. I don't want you to give up your life in Philadelphia—your wonderful, _wonderful_ life in Philadelphia!—just like I don't want to give up my own."

There was a loaded moment where all he could do was stare at her. A tension in his jaw reminded him he was grinding his teeth. Where he made his life was his decision to make, not hers. With resolve, however, he reminded himself that they both had that choice.

Finally, he took a deep breath and forced himself to speak calmly, quietly, "If I'm not the father then I guess I have no say. What you do is your business. But if I am the father, there's no way in hell I'll let you do it _all by yourself_." As a roller coaster might, his voice gradually rose until his words rolled out of control, "It's not gonna be like that. I've lived that life. I _was_ that child! We were _both_ that child!"

"Oh Jess," she said sadly.

"Look, I get that it adds a whole new level of complexity to whatever our relationship is. I'm just saying, I would want to be involved."

"Jess, you don't know what you're saying. Don't make promises you can't keep. You're in shock. We'll talk later, okay?"

"Rory," he pleaded, feeling simultaneously that a child had been thrust upon him and then abruptly ripped away.

But she nodded, patted his knee again and asserted once more, "We'll talk later."

She spoke with such assuredness, as though she'd worked it all out, in stark contrast to the flurry of confusion that made up his being. He supposed, though, she'd had some time to digest the news. Perhaps he _was_ in shock because, as his forehead dropped down into the palms of his hands, he let her stand up and show herself out of the house without putting up any fight. She was gone before he even realized it.


	5. Keeping it Bottled Up

**Keeping it Bottled Up...**

Two days later, as he made the brief trek from Liz and TJ's at the behest of his uncle, Jess found Rory across the street from Luke's, gazing at the diner in some state of perplexity. Unbeknownst to her, her presence stopped Jess dead in his tracks. He gritted his teeth.

They hadn't spoken since she'd dropped her bombshell. He was torn between an anger over her dismissal of the role a father should be allowed to play, and a sympathy for what she herself must be going through, his care and concern for her still. True to his word, he hadn't said anything to Luke, or to anyone. That meant he'd been left alone to his own conflicted thoughts ever since. Inside him, warring factions of emotions shredded the landscape of his heart—he hadn't felt this torn up or turned within himself since he'd been a teenager.

He took a deep breath. His heartbeat betrayed him as he made his way over to her, with as much nonchalance as he could muster.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"What's going on?" he asked. "Stakeout? Big sting operation going down? 'Cause I gotta tell ya, _Friday_ , this is not your most covert operation."

"I've been debating whether I should have coffee."

Jess stood next to her and now stared, likewise, at the big coffee cup sign hanging off of Luke's Diner. It took him a second to comprehend the nature of her debate. Then, "Ah," he said in sudden understanding (albeit not much sympathy, since his own sense of hurt got in the way). "You know, I hear they're doing some wonderful things with decaf lately."

"No, they aren't."

"No… They aren't," he agreed. "But I'm sure one cup of the good stuff wouldn't hurt."

"Some reports say twelve ounces a day is safe." She nodded.

"OK. There you go."

"Then again, other reports link _any_ amount of caffeine to all sorts of problems and 'Why take the risk?' they say."

"OK." He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "There's that too."

They stood for a long moment more, with Jess still irked and his thoughts drifting. Finally he asked, "You talk to the other guy yet?"

She shrugged. "It's complicated." For a long time it seemed as though that was all she would say on the matter but eventually she added, "He's... engaged. He might be married already." The comment surprised Jess in more ways than one.

Jess blinked. " _That_ was the reason?"

"What do you mean? Reason for what?"

"Why you wanted to break up with him..."

"What?"

"With Pete."

"Pete?"

"Your note? 'Break up with Pete.' The note on your desk at the Gazette," he finally explained directly to her persistent blank stare.

"Oh!... _Dammit_!" she muttered under her breath, then shook her head and calmed herself. "No, I haven't talked to Pete yet—Paul!" She sighed and palmed her face. "I will."

It occurred to him, "You told me but you haven't told him?"

She hesitated briefly, before revealing a further complication. "It's not him. It's someone else. Someone in London." She sighed. "I should really tell him in person."

Irrational irritation flooded through Jess towards Rory's love life—still as complicated as ever, still dragging him into the mix—though he had _always_ been a willing participant.

But, really, who was he to say how she should live her own life? "Yeah. I suppose you should," he conceded her point about conveying news such as this in person.

"I just haven't made the trip across the pond yet," she added. "With Mom and Luke's wedding being so close, it's not like I can just go jetting off right now."

Jess frowned but, nodding, he decided to drop it. He turned from her, to instead survey the going's on around them. Several beats of his heart reminded him he was fine, and several deep breaths soothed him before he could think of a new topic of conversation. She beat him to it.

"What would _you_ do?" she asked suddenly. She turned her gaze towards him, startling him with her intensity and bewildering him with the open-ended nature of her question for several seconds.

"About the coffee," she explained, and then he realized their trains of thought had been on entirely different tracks. "If it were you, what would you do? Would you drink it? I mean, it may be my risk to take but… the outcome of it… maybe, it could affect you also."

He swallowed hard, her words chipping away at some of his heart's crustiness and prodding at a certain gooeyness inside. After her insistence on self-sufficiency only two days prior, it meant a lot to hear her acknowledge the validity of his own concerns. More of his anger dissipated, the edge now gone. His shoulders relaxed. The side of him that sympathized with her situation advanced further across the battlefield.

He considered her question. Jess was a firm believer that people had become overly cautious—he highly doubted that mothers of generations past had stopped to consider their caffeine intake, and yet the world was not filled with legions of three-headed mutants. Even still, Jess was surprised to find himself also leaning towards caution once the question was put into terms of his own child. Jess swallowed hard, deciding finally that Rory had already consumed more than her fair share of the stuff. Cutting back to more moderate levels could only help. He shrugged. "Get a small one."

She scoffed, turning from him. She slumped her shoulders and grumped at the diner. "Can you imagine the suspicious glances when a Gilmore orders a small coffee?"

"Can't be worse than the suspicious glances when people see _Sergeant Joe Friday_ staking out Luke's Diner. Which they _have_ , by the way. Why don't you just get a large one, then, and not finish it?"

"I can't be _trusted_ with a large coffee! One sip and I'd be doomed! It's gotta be a small."

Despite himself, his lip curled into a ghost of a smirk. "Of course not. What was I thinking?"

"Will you bring me one?" Those eyes were once again focussed on him, their intensity perhaps even more striking now.

"What?"

"No one would wonder why you're getting a small-sized coffee." She dug in her pocket. Surreptitiously, she offered a dollar to him, tapping it discreetly into the palm of his hand until he took it.

"What am I? Your drug dealer?"

She smiled then, her heart amended, already accepting his assistance as the inevitable solution. "In a manner of speaking."

After a loaded moment, "Fine," he said with an eye-roll. Then he started into the street. Just as _she_ apparently did, he _also_ knew she would win the argument and, with his last two nights being restless, he was far too tired to delay the inevitable.

"Oh!" she called, waving him back so she could talk to him closely. He rolled his eyes again but returned. She whispered, "Put it in a big cup so that people don't see me holding a small one."

"Fine," he repeated, amused as resigned. He shook his head as he started out on his journey again. "This doesn't look suspicious at all."

Jess breezed into the diner and straight behind the counter. His task was easy and, like second nature, he found himself pouring the cup. He made sure to fill the large cup with what he guessed was only twelve ounces, as Rory's current regime would dictate.

Jess bit his lip as he grabbed a lid and capped the paper cup to hide its less-than-full state. Silently, he applauded Rory for choosing to live healthier for the the sake of the baby. _It couldn't have been easy for her to make that choice_ , he thought, _being her mother's daughter after all, with blood ninety percent caffeine in it's natural state_.

But she'd made that choice, conflicted though she'd been about it, and both she and her baby would benefit. Her health and well-being were paramount now.

He sucked a deep breath through his pursed lips. All of a sudden, Jess realized an egregious error on his part.

Frowning with concern, he slipped Rory's cash into the register. At the sound of it, Luke came running out of the kitchen—but Jess was on a mission now and he put his uncle on hold with a greeting and a deft, "I'll be back in fifteen." He stepped out the door to the jangle of the bell, as quickly as he'd come.

Rory wasn't where he'd left her, which didn't surprise him. She _had_ been trying (though failing) to be inconspicuous, after all. He heard the succinct whistle which lead him around the corner of the high school. She was biting her lip as he rounded the corner but her expression spelled relief and happiness when she saw the coffee—Jess was cognizant and realistic enough to know that her smile had not been meant for _him_ but for the cup he held. The sight touched his heart a bit nonetheless.

"Here," he said to her warmly, once he'd approached her. "One small caffeine fix in a large, decoy cup." He tried to inject some levity into the tension, "Guess I should've brought you a donut also. Cops like donuts for their covert operations, right? Didn't think of that 'til just now."

"Thanks, Jess," she said graciously. "I owe ya one."

"Nah." He paused to witness her as she began happily breathing in the aroma of her elixir. "So…" he began. Now to ask the question he _should_ have asked right off the bat, "You good?" He shrugged to distance himself from the concern in his voice, because absolute sincerity had always been uncomfortable for him. "Keepin' healthy?"

"Yeah." She nodded and dragged her eyes away from her coffee for the moment. She looked at Jess with something approaching pleasant surprise. Then she glanced around to make sure no one would overhear and began, "Aside from the sudden upheaval, I'm good. I mean… I'm different. I ate _an apple_ today." Her eyes darted back and forth again, as though that little tidbit would be damning for sure. He supposed that, for her, that behaviour _would_ seem suspicious.

"I haven't had any coffee for _four days!_ Ever since I realized. But I've been keeping up the pretence with my mom, so her plants have been getting a real buzz. I'm tired all the time and I… just feel weird. It's _kind of weird_ ," she whispered, leaning closer into his space conspiratorially, and smiling, "Almost as though nothing's changed but of course it has. I can _feel_ the change, slight though it is. And I wouldn't even notice the feeling of change if I didn't already know the reason behind it. That's how slight the sensation is. And... It's just different... but I'm good. No sickness, at least not yet. Thank you for asking."

Jess bit his lip as his eyes drifted down to her abdomen, still trim and unrevealing. With sudden urgency, lest someone see him staring there, he dragged his gaze back to her face. "Good. I'm glad you're good."

"Thanks." She paused. "It feels good to talk about it. I've been keeping it a secret for too long. Four days seems like an eternity to keep a secret this big from my mom. You're the only one who knows so far. Well, besides my doctor. And I'm pretty sure my mom's plants figure _something_ is going on."

Jess smiled weakly and shuffled his feet, waiting for the next topic to occur to him. When it did, he said, "So where you livin' these days? You staying close to your mom after the—?" At close quarters, a passerby heading towards the square forced Jess to shut his mouth abruptly, leaving the sentence unfinished.

She laughed shortly. "I _was_ planning to move to Queens, before all this. Now I'm not so sure." She stood for a moment, watching the townies scurrying about.

Her gaze led Jess to join her in a survey of the _Harvest Festival_ crew, busy as Doozers. In the distance, Jess could hear Taylor barking orders which Kirk, in turn, attempted to delegate to Gypsy. At Gypsy's deadly glare, Kirk shrank back and then doggedly carried out the tasks himself. If Jess had been feeling more jovial, he would have smirked.

"Stars Hollow does seem like a good place to raise a child though," Rory said.

Jess nodded silently. He took another deep breath, remembering wryly all that had happened here in the short time it had been his home—recognizing how _the molten hell_ he'd found here when he'd first stepped off the bus at seventeen, had cooled and no longer singed an angry teenage heart. The town still oozed that same pleasantness he'd once found repellant but, _that_ , he'd long-since come to wryly appreciate. Here the traffic was slow, the streets safe, and the citizens caring, and—even Jess had to admit—that sense of security made Stars Hollow an ideal choice for a child.

He panned the street, observing the small-town crowds of happy, chattering people until, finally, a young family emerged in the foreground. The child struggled adorably under the weight of a moderate-sized, potted plant, yet still insisted on carrying the heavy thing without help from Mom and Dad. Jess turned his gaze firmly back to the town square.

"The _30-Something Gang_ be damned," Rory said, breaking into Jess's thoughts once again and bringing him back into the moment, "I really do love it here. It still feels like home." She sighed and looked down to the paper cup she held in her hand. "Being close to Luke's coffee doesn't hurt either." Then she smiled.

In another moment, she'd caught Jess's full attention as she was once again breathing deeply the scent of her coffee, gently and blissfully wafting the cup's steam across her cheek and clearly intending to make an experience of her allotted twelve ounces. Amusement got the better of him finally and he full-out smirked as Rory _at last_ took the long-anticipated gulp of coffee, closing her eyes as though in ecstasy.

In that moment, he was flooded with memories of how much he'd loved her. He'd never understood where her sweet tendencies originated, having never had that lust for life ingrained in him, but her wide-eyed freshness had never failed to tickle his heart. Perhaps it had just been another case of opposites attract.

But that was something Jess didn't want to dwell upon and, though he smiled slightly, he looked away. "I know what you mean," he mused of Stars Hollow instead, and he really did. "It's a nice, quirky little community."

Rory, still in full connoisseur-mode when last he'd checked, made an audible gurgling sound. Jess turned back to witness her sudden gulping-and-sputtering distress. He staggered back as she threatened to baste him with her drink.

"Damn, Jess!" she choked out, her voice garbled, as she swatted him twice on the arm, "You're lucky I didn't just do a spit-take! My _coffee_! Aw man!" she wailed then. "I was gonna _savour_ that." As if she hadn't been already.

Jess laughed as he dodged more of her ineffectual swatting. "Sorry."

"Explain yourself, Mariano." She coughed again briefly. "Did you just say something nice about Stars Hollow?"

"I have a new appreciation for it."

"Get out!" she guffawed. He supposed he expected the reaction.

"My family's here," he offered, off-the-cuff and innocent, with a casual shrug of his shoulders. Then a new thought occurred to him just as he saw the same thought flit through her own eyes. They both breathed deeply when they considered the new, possible implications of that statement.

With the mood suddenly sincere, and them both once again acknowledging the potential of his role, he decided to dive right in. Jess tapped her upper arm lightly with the side of his fist. "I wanna know my kid," he whispered, mindful of keeping their secret from the several passersby on the sunny streets of Stars Hollow. Then, acknowledging the current question of paternity, he added, "If I ever had one."

"I know. I get that," she said, her voice warm with sincerity. She exhaled and paused to glance down at her coffee cup. "And you should. I wouldn't stand in your way. That was never my intention."

"Good."

"But…" she paused again, fingering the rim of her cup. "How would it work? What about Philadelphia?"

"I'd rack up a lot of travel bills I suppose." He shrugged. "Seems like you want custody..."

She frowned, snorting a bit at some unknown irony. "This isn't exactly how I'd planned things to go. No offence to my mom and the amazing things she's accomplished but... I'd planned on, someday, having something... a little more traditional."

"Yeah," he sadly mused aloud. A small, bitter laugh preceded, "Me too." No matter what, Jess did not look as the young family of three were loading themselves—and Junior's heavy plant—into a nearby station wagon, their mere presence oppressive to Jess.

" _What?_ " Jess argued, mildly indignant, once he turned and saw Rory's impressive stare. "Don't look at me like that. I think about things."

"You do?" Her voice was incredulous. "Since when?"

He shrugged it off but offered truthfully, "Since about the sixth grade, when I met my friend Noddy. He had a dad that was _actually around_. Shocker of shocks. I wanna be that guy. I don't wanna be my dad."

"Oh." She sympathized quietly, "Yeah, I get it."

They stood for a while longer, their subtle smiles and tentative gazes eventually turning away from one another. Jess watched as Kirk chased after his pig before another Harvest Festival decoration became lunch. In the distance, Taylor pouted and sputtered in agitation. Time stretched and Jess knew he was now long overdue at the diner. His uncle needed his help. But, with a frown, Jess realized he didn't want to break this moment just yet. Not when she also seemed reluctant.

"Do you know your blood type?" she asked him at length.

He regarded her closely, a gesture which she once again returned. "Not off-hand."

"I'll need to know that."

He nodded. "I can get that for you."

"OK. Thank you."

"Yeah well... You can thank me for it but…" he added with another shrug. "It's literally the least I can do. I mean you're doing all the work here now." He jutted his chin subtly towards the life growing inside her.

She bit her lip. She looked down and rubbed her stomach lovingly, once, sparking something in Jess, before she abruptly stifled such a telling public gesture and gripped her coffee tightly with both hands instead. "I guess," she agreed somewhat pragmatically, though still with an apparent fondness for the unborn child.

She'd quickly lifted her gaze from her abdomen but her eyes still shone with a working of thought, visions of a future playing out in her mind, he guessed. It called to his own mind memories of how important family had always been to Rory. She had a good heart and the benefit of a strong upbringing. Her child would be loved, and would grow up in an environment far more stable than young Jess's had ever been. She'd be close to her child—friendly by nature but strict when necessary. She'd learned those skills from her own mother.

Jess gulped as his own visions of the future flitted through his mind's eye. He knew any child of Rory's would get stories at bedtime. _Every_ bedtime. She would surely dig out all her old favourites, and raid all the libraries and bookstores in New England and instill a love of reading in that child before any of the other kids cared two licks about the written word. That was more than most kids got, and a terrific advantage for any child. She'd balance the need for education and diligent study with the all-important respite of movie nights and town festivals. In Jess's own sudden investment in the well-being of this child, these were some of the most beautiful visions Jess had ever conjured.

Despite himself and his uncertainty of his role, Jess couldn't help recalling his own favourite childhood stories. These memories were quickly followed by a flurry of thoughts towards the fun he'd had recently with Doula, skipping stones and telling tall-tales. Maybe, just maybe, this picture of Rory and a child would include Jess. Maybe he'd get the chance to share his life's experiences and beloved stories with the child—perhaps _his_ child!—as well.

Jess took a deep, invigorating and slightly shaky breath. These were big thoughts indeed.

After a moment, she exhaled. "I feel guilty about drinking this."

He looked down at the coffee in her hands and raised an eyebrow. Rather than admit how sentimental he was suddenly feeling, he teased instead, "You want me to drink it for you and tell you how horrible it tastes?"

"Not even you could convince me of that, Mariano."

He smirked.


	6. The Hangover

_A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who commented on the story so far. I know it probably doesn't seem like it, given my abysmally slow rate of posting new chapters, but your comments do encourage me to write faster! I've been plugging away at this and the next chapter and each review I've received has spurred me on. I did include some dialog from the revival later in this chapter, to set the scene and because I couldn't resist doing so. It's probably my favourite scene in the entire WTF-moment that was the revival, or one of them. (Scratch that. The revival was pretty good, just not what I'd been hoping for.) I tried to keep the direct quotes to a minimum though._

 **The Hangover...**

Later that day, in Luke and Lorelai's living room, Jess sank into the chair and stuck his nose deeper in his book. That was all the book was good for: two panels of paper attached at a spine, a prop to hide his face. He wasn't reading it.

After work on his manuscript had proven impossible, he'd switched tactics—picking up a trusty novel that had once been irresistible, up until two days ago. Today, he'd been staring at the same page for the last half an hour.

He'd normally expect even Luke to notice such persistent daydreaming, but Luke had his own state of stress to deal with. It was the evening before the wedding, and Luke was in a right-tizzy because someone named Miss Celine had rambled celebrity-infused platitudes and pseudo-instructions without really explaining the finer details. Luke had already consulted with Jess over cufflinks, socks and tie knots. Luke, normally so competent, became instead a source of amusement for Jess, as though his uncle hadn't been successfully dressing himself for years.

Jess was happy to help, of course (especially considering the joyful, long-time-coming occasion behind Luke's tizzy). He was even happier still that he hadn't needed to field any questions about underwear. There were some things Jess didn't want to know about his uncle. He'd prefer not being _able_ to picture (and therefore woefully picturing) his uncle's unmentionables during the ceremony.

Of course, if Jess's recent behaviour were anything to go on, he would have a hard time keeping his mind on the ceremony regardless—especially considering Rory would be standing just across the altar from him. It was lucky that all eyes would be on the betrothed tomorrow. That meant there'd be fewer people to notice the pathos of Jess sneaking glances (or even worse, openly _staring_ ) at Rory.

His writing couldn't distract him tonight. His novel tried valiantly but also failed. Jess had falsely thought his uncle's drama would be enough of a distraction from his own. However, amused by his uncle's fashion plight though he was, and though there were plenty of other worthy diversions, Jess was still a pile of nerves, completely focused on what life had handed him. His mind kept lingering on the possibilities of the future—not least of which what would happen the very next day.

Tomorrow wasn't just the day that Luke and Lorelai formalized the commitment they'd been living for many years. It was also the day that Rory told her mother about the baby.

Once the news was out, there would be the inevitable questions. Perhaps Luke and Lorelai would turn a suspicious eye towards Jess (he _had_ been spending a lot of time in Stars Hollow lately). Perhaps Rory would even confirm their suspicions. Jess needed to figure out how he was going to deal with that, should the questions arise.

But how do you deal with those questions when you hadn't even decided how you feel about your answers?

Rory… She'd caressed the tiny child within her. Now Jess—concerned for her, curious about her, focussed on this life-altering situation and what it could mean for the both of them—couldn't keep his eyes off of her, off of the as-yet non-rise of her abdomen and the secret it contained. (And with the several remaining last-minute wedding preparations they'd shared responsibility for that afternoon, he'd had plenty of opportunities to stare.) Jess suspected that, with her one small gesture, she had unknowingly wormed her way back into his heart all over again, as though some sort of love had begun anew. But was it love for Rory—or for the _son or daughter_ that he wasn't even sure was his?

That was the most surprising thing—the sudden-onset, near-constant ponderings about fatherhood. The scene of the small child carrying the heavy plant earlier that day—which Jess had definitely not stared at—had still managed to dig its way into his subconscious and wrap pithy tendrils around his heart. Jess couldn't help but picture himself in the role of that father, his own offspring being just as doggedly, infuriatingly independent as the child from today had been, as young Jess had been before him.

Now, ever since Rory had soothed his fear and anger over ending up ostracised—relegated to a mere donor of DNA—he'd been able to focus on what the opposite would mean: being a part of a child's life. Since then, the same damn, tentative smile of wonderment would occasionally creep across Jess's face, until being nervously collected by a bitten lip and furrowed brow, before roaming freely with delight once again.

The visions came steadily, with a stirring in his chest. There was no tossing a softball, because Jess had never particularly been a fan of organized sports, but there were water balloons, paper boats and airplanes, and skipping stones, all before the suppertime meals Jess would prepare— _somebody_ had to feed the kid something other than Red Vines. Giggles would ring out as Jess would pull a coin from behind his or her little ear—Jess was pretty sure a little kid would appreciate that kind of thing (unlike Rory had, that one fateful day long ago). A blanket fort would become a sacred place where simple stories could be officially transcribed (by big hands) and illustrated (by little ones). There were the tricycles becoming bicycles, with training wheels eventually coming off. Jess was bound and determined to be everything that his own parents hadn't been.

On weekends, Jess saw trips to the public library—perhaps even the Jefferson Market Library, right around the corner from his beloved Washington Square Park. Jess remembered that library from lonely moments in his own childhood, its stained glass and spiral staircase being, themselves, something out of a Gothic fantasy novel one could read there, transporting a reader to a time and place far removed, where loneliness was irrelevant and inspiration was everywhere. In his youth, he'd even had a few chances to climb to the top of the library's tower, always being rewarded with a thrilling panorama of Manhattan.

Jess absently chewed his lip, as he now pictured just such a trip, but this time with a sidekick—no longer experiencing that library's magic alone. Beside him, an awestruck, cherub face would marvel at the coloured glass and eerie staircase, would turn eyes upwards towards the skyscrapers Jess had always loved, would bear witness to the seemingly infinite city that made a person feel both _at the centre of it all_ and insignificant, all at once.

Jess sat back in Luke and Lorelai's chair, slumping a little in his deep contemplation. His book fell to his lap, no longer worth even the iota of concealment it had provided before.

Having a child wouldn't always be so idyllic, Jess knew. Of course, there were the financial concerns. (Though Rory had insisted her inheritance would take care of it, it wasn't fair to leave all of it to her and Jess refused to let that happen.) There would be the diapers, tearful days and temper tantrums; the disgusting displays of frenzied parents wrestling in the aisles for those must-have Christmas presents; and the _Next Big Things_ that tomorrow's teenagers were destined to love—and their elders, destined to hate. But those thoughts were easier to put out of Jess's mind, at this early date, when there were so many other _more beguiling_ mental images to entertain. He also chose not to dwell too long on how it would feel if—after all these hours spent in enthralling, goosebump-inducing introspection—it finally turned out the child wasn't his.

After the bedtime stories, Jess imagined instead (while absently propping up his book once more), there'd be the nighttime questions and befuddled attempts to explain the complexities of the world, that no one could ever really explain, and to instill a sense of right and wrong (notwithstanding the occasional Halloween trick to keep the townsfolk on their toes). The boundaries and repercussions would grow with the child, into the prickly teenage years, with Jess knowing, all the while, that any offspring of his own, despite these lessons early in life, might only learn those values in his own due time, as Jess himself had done.

His thoughts were interrupted when his uncle came down the stairs again, this time in full wedding attire. Jess raised an eyebrow. "Wow, where's Right Said Fred when you need 'em?"

"Guy who sold me this suit gave me this." He held a scrap of fabric out for Jess's assessment. "I don't know what to do with it."

Jess rolled his eyes at his uncle's unenlightenment but welcomed the distraction. "It's a pocket square. Do the math."

Luke folded a makeshift bundle and stuffed it in his jacket's breast pocket. "Oh," he said, instantly pleased. "Oh, it looks kind of nice."

"So this is the big outfit for tomorrow," Jess said simply. He could tell his uncle had taken the simple comment the wrong way, however, by the grimace that immediately appeared upon the elder man's face.

Luke groused, "Get it all out now."

"Turn around," Jess encouraged.

"Jess," he warned.

Jess's response came more forcefully, "Turn."

Luke acquiesced finally and managed a slow turn for Jess's appraisal. Jess eyed him. The suit was well-cut for the man's build, clean and wrinkle-free. The slacks were well-pressed and the shoes polished and shiny. All the accoutrements had been pinned or placed or tied in the right spots, just as Jess had advised. There wasn't much else that could be expected of a groom.

More handsome than anything, however, were the man's eyes: excited and hopeful for the future. He may have appeared nervous to a certain degree—and irritated by Jess as always—but there was an underlying happiness readily apparent in his eyes. Jess remembered all too well Luke's desolation, when it looked as though Lorelai would leave him. But now that they'd learned the supposed signs had simply been misinterpreted—and that Luke and Lorelai's relationship was as strong as ever—Luke radiated an inner tranquility.

"Well?" Luke asked impatiently.

"You are a very handsome man." The comment was truthful, as far as Jess could tell, but he managed to roll his words ever so slightly with a teasing tone.

"All right." Luke grumbled, taking the bait as intended.

"I mean, very hot."

"I got it."

"Rande Gerber hot." Jess's lips threatened to creep into a smile as he teased his uncle and his mind drifted to visions of carrying the tradition into another generation—to a young child, barely aware of the art of speech, calling his grandfather at the diner to mispronounce, "Is your refrigerator running?" Jess would be sure to discuss proper prank etiquette. _No prank calls during the lunch rush_ , he decided.

The vein on Luke's forehead had made its appearance right on time, telling Jess it was time to wrap it up. Jess sighed happily, his mind finally focussing on nothing but Luke and how much Jess loved this man who was so like a father to him and who, one way or another—by marriage, if not by a complicated bloodline with honorary parentage—would be a grandfather soon.

"Enough, Jess."

"Hey," he began, the sincerity flowing freely for once. "You look good."

"Yeah?"

Jess rapped him on the shoulder, still jovial but all outward sappiness now sapped-out. "I only do sincere once, Man."

"Right, thanks."

All of a sudden the front door burst open. Unexpectedly, a distraught Kirk ran into the living room, his gangly arms attempting to instill calm, even though the severity and suddenness of his arrival would cause more harm than good. "Luke!" he cried, his words likewise attempting to calm but nonetheless sparking alarm, "Everything's under control!"

Luke turned his grievance towards the new arrival, "What happened to knocking?"

"What if we were _naked_?" Jess agreed, not resisting a new angle with which to tease his uncle.

As expected, Luke wilted under the comment. "Don't _say_ that," he pleaded, much to Jess's pleasure.

As Jess sank back into the chair, Kirk, distressed and evidently nauseous, began his long-winded explanation for the sudden intrusion. Jess smirked and enjoyed the show. Perhaps he could be distracted after all.

"I wish Petal were here with me," Kirk said of his pig, wrapping up his speech mournfully. "She's a great source of comfort in times of stress. Plus, if I vomit and miss the toilet, she's there to make it disappear."

With obvious disgust and annoyance, Luke commanded, "Stop talking."

Luke stressed. Jess smirked. Kirk curled up on the couch and gave every indication that he wouldn't be leaving anytime soon.

Jess's enjoyment grew by the same degree as Luke's agitation (albeit _inversely_ on a scale of happiness) once Lorelai then also appeared, her arrival coming from the kitchen.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Luke cried.

"I live here. You look hot."

"Rande Gerber hot," Jess chimed in.

"Yeah," she agreed pleasantly.

She was relaxed and casual and completely unconcerned with the turmoil her very presence caused an already distraught Luke. Jess leaned back into the lumbar of the chair and enjoyed the surprise double-feature, as now the two of them argued over which was most important—the groom not seeing the bride before the wedding, or the bride being able to procure herself the elusive Pop-Tart.

"Get out of here," Luke was pleading with his wife-to-be.

"Why?"

"The wedding's tomorrow!" the man cried, his blood pressure rising to his face. "I shouldn't see you. It's bad luck!"

"Oh, are we doing that?" Lorelai asked innocently. Their bickering continued as Jess's smirk progressed to a full-out smile, although his mind had already begun to drift once again.

His uncle was, of course, correct. The plan had indeed been for the Gilmores to spend the night at The Dragonfly Inn. According to the plan, Luke—and Jess—wouldn't have seen either of them until the wedding, not until the aisle. And, truthfully, with Rory wanting to keep her secret until after the wedding, Jess had figured that arrangement was for the best. With the wedding preparations done, there was nothing tonight to distract Jess from his sudden preoccupation with her and the situation that entangled them. Frankly, he wasn't sure he could be in the same room as her without staring openly, ignoring the conversation around him, and arousing suspicions. Even now, as her mother had appeared, he had to actively force himself not to crane his neck to see whether Rory also lurked in the kitchen. Feigning indifference would be nearly impossible tonight. It would be best if Jess didn't see Rory until after they were done keeping secrets.

But fate was cruel; _both_ Gilmores had flouted the plan. Only a moment later, the object of his care and curiosity also materialized and, amusing though it was when the women _pretended_ to leave for Luke's benefit, Jess bristled. Though they'd _said_ they were leaving, Lorelai proved otherwise when she subsequently announced she was ordering pizza and taking requests.

Despite his trying to remain cool in Rory's presence, that same strange fluttering had returned to Jess's chest the moment he'd seen the woman who might be carrying his child. Given the precarious way that he felt, and the suspicions his distraction by her would inevitably spark if they both stayed there that night, Jess figured the best thing to do would be to take himself out of the situation.

Jess rose from the chair and gathered his book, bag and jacket. "Hey, listen," he told his uncle. "You guys have a full house here, so I'm just gonna take off."

"No, you don't have to," Luke was quick to assure him, but he followed an undeterred Jess out the front door and onto the porch, into the cool evening air. Jess slipped his arms into the sleeves of his jacket.

"It's no problem. I'll go crash with Liz and TJ. See you guys tomorrow."

"Liz got a bed there for you?" Luke fretted, as though, all the times Jess had stayed there babysitting Doula, he'd been curled up in a lump on the floor.

"No bed." With familial love for his uncle (and a certain unexpected flip of his heart that was completely unrelated to familial love) Jess explained, "But a lot of couches. Not sure why."

Luke acquiesced then and stepped back towards the foyer with his parting request, "Be back at 10:00?" Jess nodded and then the two were set to part ways.

Luke's reentry and Jess's escape, however, were interrupted by Rory as she bounded out the front door to join them.

She brandished a thick stack of pages at Jess—thicker than the stack she'd brandished at him a month earlier—then grabbed his jacket lapels excitedly. With barely a hint of warning, she was jumping and sending Jess's already frazzled heart into his ears.

"Jess, Jess, look. The first three chapters!" Her happy shriek at finally showing him the chapters they'd talked about weeks ago (before she'd given them to her mother) took his breath away. He guessed wryly that this was one of the mood swings she'd alluded to.

As quickly as she'd swooped in, the flurry that was Rory had disappeared happily into the house, leaving two stunned Danes men in her wake.

"What was that all about?" Luke demanded of Jess.

Not wanting to get into it, lest his earlier thoughts should materialize on his face, Jess sloughed the event off as quickly as he could. His reply was as short and sweet as he could muster, "Oh just a thing between us."

But of course that was the wrong choice of words. Jess realized too late that any vagueness regarding himself and Rory— _then_ , _now_ and _for all-time_ —would only spark more suspicion. Luke's follow-up question of, "Between you?" confirmed that. Jess rolled his eyes.

"A _work_ thing between us," Jess assured him which, of course, it was. He didn't need to mention that there might also be _another_ thing between them. Now wasn't the time for that conversation.

"Work thing, huh?" Luke doubted him still, and Jess didn't blame him for it. "So then you're over that, right?"

"Yup, long over," he asserted which Luke finally accepted at face value.

 _At least he had been_ , Jess thought as, with a few parting words, Luke went back into the house and left Jess to his own devices, alone on the porch. Jess's leaping heart, however, just at the sight of Rory, would suggest that was not the case.

But perhaps he _was_ over her—over their past, their failings, his botched attempts—as he'd felt he had been for years. His life had become fulfilling, he'd moved on, and there'd been no longing for what they once had been. Perhaps, in his heart now was simply _something new_ , and entirely different, that was beginning.

Over the years, Jess had known women. But in all that time, neither when he'd been young and irresponsible nor as he'd aged and matured, had he ever experienced a pregnancy scare. No one had ever come to him with test results, positive or negative, figurative or not, until now. Now, at the age of thirty-two, he'd joined the ranks of those men who'd had that brush with the consequences. Suddenly Jess Mariano was living proof of the cautionary tale.

Only, now, as it turned out, he wasn't all that scared. The _scare_ wasn't at all _scary_. He hadn't noticed it as it had happened along the way but, somewhere, somehow, as he'd grown up and gotten his act together, his thinking had shifted. The more he searched his galloping heart now, the more he found honest-to-goodness excitement. Now, as the possibility had presented itself, Jess had discovered: he'd love to care for a kid.

That wasn't to say that he didn't feel a shortness of oxygen, as every once in a while the thought of parenthood arrested his breath. It was the same manifestation of transient terror that he imagined Jimmy must have felt (and the same as every other parent in history, no doubt). But whereas Jimmy had let that fear get the better of him, to eventually leave the source of his fear behind, Jess felt stronger than that. And whereas Liz had simply ignored any reasons for fear, instead blindly allowing her first child to stumble through life unchecked and caring for himself, Jess readied himself now to the problem-solving and diligence he knew would prove necessary.

Maybe his calm was due in part to the fact he was now older than Jimmy had been then, or that Jess had simply inherited more of his mother's carefree sense of _whatever will be, will be_ than he cared to admit. Maybe Jess's fear had been squeezed out by a sense of _do right_ , instilled by witnessing the family model of others, or the moral example set by Luke and descended from William Danes himself—the inspiration Jess had been forced to take from the grandfather he'd never met, every time Luke or Liz had spoken of him in such reverent, or grudgingly impressed, tones (respectively).

Whatever it was, Jess was now more willing to run defiantly _into_ his fear than away from it as Jimmy had done, and was willing to put in the effort that Liz had never found necessary or, really, had never had the capacity for in those days. Jess would look beneath Fear's bed if he had to. He was pretty sure he could slay any demons hiding underneath.

Jess didn't think about all the _hows_ or _whys_ that night as he made his way over to the living room window and stood there, alone on the Gilmore-Danes porch, in the cool twilight. Only that, somewhere inside him, unbeknownst to him until now, he'd found the courage and readiness (and, dare he say it, _desire_ ) to be a father.

Jess had, only in recent years, truly felt comfortable in his own skin. As a teen he'd burned every bridge he'd crossed. In his twenties, he'd faked it 'til he'd made it. Today, he was in a good place in his life, contented and truly stable. But nothing Jess had done thus far in his life was as important as raising a child. Perhaps it was the right time for a little more chaos, the good kind this time.

He couldn't believe that his first opportunity for that life—should it turn out to be _his_ reality and not the other guy's—would be with Rory. His future could be tied forever to this ghost from his past. After all they'd been through, the fact that it was with _her_ was the scariest, most surreal part.

Given the chance, Jess would have preferred to be in a committed relationship with the mother of his child. It would have been the dream, and vastly easier than trying to navigate such uncharted waters alongside an ex-girlfriend for whom the requited love was merely of the tender, nostalgic sort and the friendship was tentative and new—but who also (he had to admit) still had the dangerous power to attract him. Nothing could be more precarious than _that_ sort of friendship.

Even without the added complication of caring for a child, their first relationship had crashed and burned so spectacularly! How would such a fragile pseudo-relationship work with a child also thrown into the mix?

But, that night, as Jess stood outside her family home watching Rory place a damp cloth upon the feverish head of sleepy Kirk—and as he realized his own graduation into adulthood like an epiphany—it reaffirmed his belief that they could see this through.

They'd opened the doors of communication this past summer and their brief dalliance in October had brought them back, even more genuinely, into one another's lives. The few conversations they'd begun recently—about Luke and Lorelai and their inevitability of marriage; about her book, and his, and publishing in general—had each morphed into a bit more, into tinges of how the two used to be in their heyday, reminding Jess how much he still liked the way her mind worked—the way she thought and spoke about life and its situations. Jess liked to surround himself with vocal people with keen eyes and bright minds. Rory would still fit right into his circle of friends—almost as though she'd been there all along—a kindred spirit sharing all of Jess's enthusiasm for an insightful, sharp-witted truth, well-turned phrase or sarcastic mock, with just enough difference of opinion to make the conversation truly interesting. He was a sucker for smart people, and her intelligence was off the charts.

Though, when the morning had dawned on their brief night together, it had been questionable whether the two of them could really maintain a friendship after all they'd been through (that morning's promises to one another aside), their recent past and its inklings of easy, enthusiastic conversation had proven—at least theoretically—it was possible.

Rory Gilmore was a good person—at one time his best friend, though he'd never told her that—and he respected and cared for her deeply. It was a feeling that he now believed to be mutual. Their care and respect for one another was a foundation they could build upon.

She certainly didn't belong on the pedestal he'd once put her on. She wasn't infallible or incapable of her own personal brand of screw ups. She'd changed in many ways since she'd been a teenager and, it seemed, not always for the better. But _still_ she was brilliant and, given a goal that she truly cared about (rather than the drifting she'd, until so recently, indulged in), she was strong and determined, and her heart was in the right place.

Jess had also changed. He did not occupy the same headspace as his teenage self. He would no longer run away from difficulties, if the going got tough. No longer could his insecurities get the best of him; he could talk problems through now, in a way that he never could then. It was imperative that he talk them through, really; he knew now that leaving problems unresolved only felt much worse in the long run.

When it came right down to it, as far as Jess was concerned, if he'd fathered a child, it couldn't've happened with a better person than his friend who had a good, tenacious heart, an amazing mind, and her own skillful mother to lead by example.

And, for Jess, the timing was _surprisingly_ right.

She was going to be a mother. And maybe, just maybe, he was going to be a father. Goosebumps trickled down his arms, as he looked into the Gilmore-Danes window with something approaching longing, for just a moment longer, before he turned and ventured slowly into the night.

He couldn't wait to meet her child.

Perhaps their story wasn't completely over yet.

 ** _A/N: It was simply unacceptable to me that Jess's heart-wrenching gaze at Rory through the window should represent him still pining away for her after all these years. Neither he, nor Rory, deserved that. (In all honesty, I think Jess deserves better than Revival Rory.) So I decided to give Jess a different reason for watching her. I hope you liked it._**


	7. Single Malt, Light with Floral Notes

**Single Malt, Light with Floral Notes...**

While he lost himself in deep thoughts, Jess watched the glossy bar, occasionally enjoying the way the lights and dancing shadows from the party behind him skimmed uncomplicatedly across its surface. In his peripheral vision, a delicate hand placed a rocks glass on the bar with decided enthusiasm, jolting him out of his solitude. "I'm told it's good etiquette for the Maid of Honour and Best Man to share a dance at these things. What say you?" a sweet voice said.

Jess smirked into his drink and then swivelled around on the stool. There before him was Rory, as lovely now in her formal dress as she had been earlier during her walk down the aisle (though, at this late hour, not without a few evident ravages of the party). She'd kicked off her fancy shoes long ago; they were strewn somewhere on the premises. A lone curl had escaped her updo and now trailed down past her flushed cheek to stick damply to her neck. Her eyes were still bright—their subtle weariness only testifying to the intensity of the celebration that had bombarded her. These were all sure indicators of the significant time she'd already spent on the makeshift dance floor that night.

Not that Jess had needed the indicators. He'd noticed her at varying intervals; he'd seen her dancing, practically all night long, with his own two eyes.

"You should ask the Best Man. Lane's over there. And you'd better let the photographer know, so she can document the moment for posterity."

"I meant you, Silly, the actual Best Man."

"Well _Rory_ , if you're looking for the _actual_ Best Man then you _are_ looking for Lane. It was Lane who witnessed the actual vows. It's her signature on the certificate. I just witnessed the dramatic re-enactment."

"Jess!" Rory looked put-out, but amusedly so. She rolled her eyes and cocked her head to the side. "I'm asking _you_. And after all the time you've spent tonight dusting the bar with your sleeves, I'm going to assume your dance card is empty and that you have no excuse but to say yes."

"Have you been watching me?" he teased. Rory only smirked.

After a moment of eye contact, Jess laughed warmly and swirled the ice cubes around in the remaining amber liquid in his glass. He admitted, his bashfulness hidden behind a bit of petulant machismo, " _Come on._ _I_ don't know any of those fancy dances!"

"Then we'll sway. We'll pretend we're in high school." She extended her hand to him.

"I _certainly_ never danced in high school." It was a technicality he couldn't resist pointing out. He continued to tease, "If we're pretending we're in high school, then there's no way in hell I should be dancing."

She sighed finally and the hand she'd offered to him dropped to her side. "No, I suppose not." She pulled up a stool of her own and sat down next to him at the makeshift bar. Jess was surprised—and a little disappointed (though he refused to contemplate _why_ )—that she'd given up so quickly. His heartbeat was inexplicably hastened by the near-miss.

She brought him back to the present with a convenient escape. "It's just as well. I've been dancing all night and I am _exhausted_ anyway." She blew on her forehead and nudged the curl of hair away from her neck. "And I am _so_ thirsty!" she declared over-dramatically.

Jess took a deep, calming breath and regarded the crystalline glass she'd placed on the bar earlier and was currently fingering the rim of. The glass was full.

"You have a drink."

She whispered, "This is Babette and Patty's _Founders' Day Punch: Wedding Edition_. It's just a prop. I can't actually drink it."

Jess nodded thoughtfully for a moment, until he decided his next move. The remains of his own drink amounted to barely a gulp so he finished it off in one shot. Without a word, he then grabbed Rory's glass from her, dumped its contents into his own, slid her glass back in front of her, and stood. She still had her prop glass, though now it was empty, as though she'd been drinking it.

At the other end of the bar was a three-gallon beverage dispenser. Filled with merely water, ice and lemon slices, it was easily the most ignored fixture at the boisterous, alcohol-fueled party; lost in his thoughts, Jess had observed the lonely dispenser earlier. Now he nudged the spigot and poured Rory a fresh glass full of water.

Returning to her, he sniffed her drink first, just to be certain.

"I didn't ask you to do that."

"No problem." He sidled up to the bar again and sniffed his own replacement drink, wincing at the _punch_ the infamous punch packed.

"Thanks," she said. He caught the picture of quizzical appreciation in her eyes.

He rolled his own. "I've had my fill of stealth maneuvers this week. Didn't wanna end up in another _Mission Impossible_ situation, that's all."

Rory curtailed a smile. "You're right. You're not one bit sweet at _all_ ," she intoned. She hummed almost imperceptibly, in amusement. Then, back to business, she finished her new drink in several successive, greedy gulps.

"Oh my God!" she gasped, breathing at last, clunking the emptied glass to the bar. "I needed that!"

"Geez," he marvelled. "You know there's more if you need it. Now you know where to find it." His thumb pointed over his shoulder.

"Yeah," she teased, still breathing heavily but suddenly also with a crafty smile and twinkling eyes. "My not-sweet-at-all ex-boyfriend-now-friend-again is _surprisingly_ benevolent."

He groused, "I meant directly from the beverage dispenser." He nodded down the length of the makeshift bar towards the three-gallon, glass jar.

She snickered. "I know," she said, but she didn't back down from her assertion. For a beat, they both paused—he shaking his head at her and she looking extremely pleased with herself.

She mused then, catching him off-guard, "But you would have danced at prom though, right?"

Jess breathed a laugh and thoughtfully shook his head. He loosened his tie further. "We're going there now, are we?" Her entertained, attentive demeanour let him know that they definitely were. He smirked at her.

He couldn't remember if he'd specifically promised to dance at prom, but it did seem like something she would have wrangled out of him. What he _did_ remember, specifically, was lying in bed one night (after she'd invited him to his own prom), simultaneously dreaming of and dreading the idea.

But if anyone could have made dancing bearable for him, it would have been Rory, since he'd always loved to hold her. Without a doubt he would have done that for her, complaining all the way onto to the dance floor, of course.

Tonight, though, he teased instead, "I doubt it. Way too cool for that."

"Frank at the Sands," she recalled and Jess almost grinned, remembering as well. His gaze trailed once again to sky blue eyes—which, under the dance floor's dazzle of lights, glowed more like amber fire than usual... and were studying him very closely. He averted his focus.

"I think you would have," she finally decided. He smiled down at the bar.

A "Rory! Jess!" brought them out of their reverie.

Rory cleared her throat as Andrew Gandolfi approached closely, offering both of them a friendly greeting which Rory returned warmly. Jess nodded and forced a smile since Andrew, proprietor of Stars Hollow's bookstore, had always been one of the few denizens to show him kindness.

"Whatta night!" Andrew gushed as he placed his hands upon their shoulders and leaned unabashedly into their space. He smelled suspiciously like the near-toxic punch now contained by Jess's glass. "But it _had to happen_! Hard to imagine why it took _s'long_ to make it _offs-cial_!"

"Oh! _Yes_ ," Rory agreed, shooting a knowing look at Jess and humouring the older man, though certainly her sentiment was sincere. "It's been a long time coming!"

Andrew turned and spoke directly to Jess. "We all knew they were meant for one another. _Everyone_ knew."

Jess nodded, surprised to be included in such a conversation—and at such close quarters also. He winced a bit under Andrew's 80-proof breath. "Uh. Yeah. There was never any doubt."

"Some things you just _can't_ deny," Andrew said, a little too pointedly, capturing Jess for a second.

"That's certainly true!" Rory was in agreement.

Jess studied Andrew. Like most of the raucous Townies that night, the man had happily cut loose after the vows had been spoken. There was a good chance that, whatever punch Rory hadn't consumed, had found its way to Andrew, who had apparently had no qualms about picking up her slack. Still, there was something sobering in his tone now as he stared at Jess and spoke words that seemed to mean far too much for Jess's liking.

Jess had actually been quite proud of himself that afternoon. He'd managed more than a modicum of discretion as he and Rory had stood up for Luke and Lorelai—Jess hadn't stared at Rory nearly as much as he'd worried he would. Although, as she'd walked down the aisle towards him (and Luke), he'd smiled what he'd hoped was a casual smirk and allowed himself a brief moment of eye contact with her—and though he'd certainly noticed how exceedingly beautiful she was and indulged briefly in the appreciation of that fact—it had been surprisingly easy thereafter to put her out of his mind for the moment.

As it turned out, the ceremony had commanded Jess's full attention and captured his delight. It was just as it should have been, to Jess's immense relief, that the romantic in him had chosen to focus so closely on the newlyweds. But then, he couldn't help but focus on them—Jess was as happy for Luke and Lorelai as any other Townie could possibly be.

Jess turned to his other companion now, hoping she wasn't picking up on the same vibe—that Andrew was actually talking about _them_ —and suddenly fought the urge to laugh at the look in her eyes. Her eyes told him what _Rory_ couldn't deny was how drunk Andrew was. Jess wholeheartedly agreed, deciding his own discomfort at the conversation was best shaken off.

"I haven't danced _thi-s'much_ since the '09 mar'thon!" Andrew declared. "Mar'thon… Mair. Ih. Thon. Is my tongue working?" Rory seemed to stifle her own laugh.

"'Course, I never made it more 'an fifteen minutes _into_ a mar'thon," he added parenthetically. "Maybe that's why I'm so wiped out tonight."

"I'm gonna guess the punch also had something to do with it," Rory surmised.

"Yeah, pro'ly…" he whispered, leaning in and confiding in her as though his confidence wasn't already the most obvious of common knowledge.

Andrew slurred, "Listen. I'm gonna take off, Rory. But I had to come an' speak with you both. It's _so important_... and you needed to know..." he paused, suddenly satisfied as though he'd already made an important point, and seemed to get his bearings. Then he enticed, almost as an afterthought, "Got a new shipment coming in tomorrow... including the new Jonathan Desmond we talked about."

"Oh!" Rory said, looking genuinely surprised by the change of topic. Then she smiled. "Thanks, Andrew. I'll be sure to check it out once the craziness settles down."

Jess offered a more subdued but no less sincere, "Thanks, Man."

" _S'Always_ good to let my fav'rite customers know! Good for business! Now that my work _here_ is done…" He puffed out his chest and looked at them both, very significantly, in turn, before pointing absently at the far end of the crowd. "I better give my best to the happy couple... before my legs refuse to take me over there," a beaming Andrew said, in parting.

"See you," Rory said, as they both twisted around to watch Andrew disappearing into the crowd. Then they glanced to one another again.

"Huh," Jess stated.

"I'm not sure what _that_ was," she concurred with Jess's vague exclamation of wonder. "Except yet another example of the thorough work of the _Founders' Day Punch_. Was he going on about Luke and Lorelai, or selling books?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." But there was something that had transpired, as Andrew had stared Jess down, that made him wonder if there weren't that third possibility. Jess scratched his ear, unnerved to think that maybe he hadn't reined in his glances towards Rory as thoroughly as he'd believed. Not knowing if he should be embarrassed by his behaviour, he kept his mouth shut, twisted into a subtle frown.

While she remained swiveled entirely away from the bar—her gaze lingering on the crowd of happy party-goers—he slid back towards it and sniffed his drink again, preparing for a sweeter sip than his palate preferred. But when he took that first mouthful, however, it proved there was no such thing as adequate preparation. He screwed up his face until there was nothing left in his mouth but the tongue-offending aftertaste. "Wow."

He needed a better distraction from his thoughts than his glassful of pungent alcohol... and Andrew had conveniently given him one, "Have you read Desmond's first in the series?"

Rory shifted back towards him, draping her forearm upon the bar and leaning into it with an expression of pleasure. "Oh my God. So good." With wide, welcoming eyes and mouth primed, all at once she seemed ready to pounce on another of their epic debates. Jess smiled at her.

Spurred on by her enthusiasm and instantly put more at ease by her conviviality, he was moved to quote, "' _Her mouth was alarming, with lips tugged to the side and a glint of sharp, white teeth. Those teeth, though gnashing now, would devour him later'_ —"

"' _Devour him later'_ ," she interjected, underscoring the quote with perfect synchrony. He smirked.

"—' _if given the chance. He was_ Indignation! _It had literally been two minutes since they'd met. She had no business finding in him an adversary to slaughter and he was_ damn _sure he'd never become her prey._ '"

"So good," she gushed again. "I couldn't believe the chain of events that scene set off! It's practically a survival story the way her judgement of him guides their actions and reactions. Judgement did not equal justice in this case."

Jess's eyes flashed. "Oh without a doubt! But did you notice the dedication? It was dedicated to his _beloved_ _wife_."

"Oh?" she murmured in encouragement.

"If she's the woman he's described, it would suggest the theme is not simply judgment, but specifically reevaluating one's opinion. The two main characters are frequently at odds throughout the first book: the hero, the anti-hero. I'm guessing that'll change in the second, especially now that their roles have changed." Rory began nodding, emboldening him.

"Wow," she said slowly, contemplating his assertion. "I didn't notice the dedication. That does lend another slant of light. And you're right: her reaction to him is dominated almost entirely by that initial misunderstanding, that one little miscommunication, but already by the end of the novel he's challenging her preconceptions and starting to see beyond her own tenacity to the person underneath. Their situation _has_ changed and they're starting to come around to one another."

She grunted in amusement then, and added, "I never would have considered it a romance. It's so _ruthless_! But their strengths and weaknesses do complement one another. I think they actually would make a good match."

"I never would have pegged you for a romance junkie," Jess teased.

"I dabble," she said, unruffled. Her fingers drummed absently on the bar for a spell. "God! Now I can't wait to pick up the next book. Andrew did say it was coming in tomorrow, didn't he?"

Jess chuckled. "Yeah, he did. I hope he ordered at least two copies or we're gonna have a problem."

"Don't worry. You can borrow my copy…" she said haughtily. " _After_ I read it, of course. Your margin notes are always better after I've formulated my own opinions."

Amused, he asked, "You're that sure you'd get to Andrew's before I do, huh?"

"I am."

"You're _that sure_ you'll wake up early? Even after you stayed up _all last night_ at that first wedding I wasn't invited to?"

Rory rolled her eyes. "I'll get up before Andrew will!"

"Well _that_ we can agree on. He's clearly not getting up early."

"No. He's not."

"I'll bet I beat you to the cash register, _with_ the latest Jonathan Desmond in hand."

"Challenge accepted," she said. "I guess we'll just be two lurkers outside the bookstore, waiting for Andrew to show up."

"Guess so."

Rory mused, "It just occurred to me: if Andrew's late, then maybe we'll have to receive his shipment for him."

"You got keys to his bookstore, Gilmore?"

"I worked there one semester. I know the trick."

"Sounds nefariously convenient."

"It really is." Her eyes twinkled.

Jess accused shrewdly, running his finger along the rim of his glass, "Andrew ever notice books mysteriously going missing, his numbers at month-end not quite adding up?"

"I save my powers for good rather than evil."

Jess nodded sagely. "Still. A bookstore practically all to yourself…"

"Stick with me, Kid, and I'll show you some wonderous things!" She winked to highlight her precociousness and Jess laughed.

"She says to the guy who has keys to his own bookstore and printing house, back home."

"Fair point," she conceded with a smile. After a beat, her eyes melted with delight and she spoke wistfully, "It must be so cool working for Truncheon."

"It is. It may be the best thing that's ever happened to me," Jess said truthfully. He swirled his drink again, sighing in contentment and deep in contemplation.

 _At least so far_ , he thought unexpectedly, with a furrow of his brow. He took a deep breath and, as his mind inevitably returned to her pregnancy, he remembered his phone call that morning.

He glanced around and cleared his throat before revealing, "So… My blood type is _O Negative_." Her momentary look of surprise proclaimed that, of course, the segue between topics had been entirely within his own mind.

Once she'd gotten her bearings, she leaned forward and whispered the next part, "Really? We have the same blood type! It's kinda rare also."

Jess marvelled at the idea but joked slyly, "Not true. Your blood type is _O Caffeinated_ , hence your daily twelve-ounce transfusions. My blood would agglutinate if exposed to caffeine the way yours routinely is."

Her smile twisted itself wryly in response to his ribbing. Rory disagreed, "You drink coffee."

"Never as much as you. You and your mother are medical marvels. _O Negative_ may be rare but you're the only two examples of the world's rarest blood type."

Rory chuckled and shook her head but, to his amusement, though her posture grew sassy and she met his gaze deeply and defiantly, she had no immediate rebuttal. Despite himself, Jess full-out smiled, cherishing, as always, the rare moments when his teasing could actually leave a Gilmore speechless.

"Look at you two!" a voice called out from behind them. Jess recognized the voice immediately and his smile faltered.

Having been put on edge by Andrew mere moments earlier, and also now fearing this lively meeting of the minds with Rory would slip away, Jess rolled his eyes and braced himself for further discomfort. Searching again for respite in his glass of punch, Jess took a big swig. "Wha—!" he exclaimed once again at the concoction's sickeningly sweet potency. He recovered in time to witness his mother's arrival.

"You know," Liz began, as she sidled up beside him and looked back and forth between them. "I never had the pleasure of seeing you two together when you were teenagers but, at times like these, I can sure picture how cute you must have been!"

"Oh," Rory chuckled bashfully. "Thank you."

Jess eyed his remaining _Founders' Day Punch: Wedding Edition_ and sighed again, this time without contentment. Though, to his surprise, his extremities already felt warmer, the liquor still wasn't working fast enough for this particular exchange with his mother.

"You know, since I've gotten to know you better, Rory, I've always hoped you'd make an honest man out of my Jess," his mother teased.

"Liz," a surprised Jess warned simply, relying instead on his eye daggers to convey his message.

"What? A mother can dream, can't she?" But Jess only glowered at her.

"No harm done, Liz," Rory assured them both, a special consoling glance given to Jess.

Liz focussed on Jess closely, wrapping a mostly unwelcome arm around his shoulders. "I just want you to be happy, the way Lorelai makes Luke happy, and the way my TJ makes me happy. Can't a mother wish that for her son?"

"I _am_ happy," Jess muttered.

Liz giggled exuberantly, squeezing his shoulders a couple times to punctuate her amusement. "Of course, Jess! Anyone can see that these days. It's just so easy to get your goat, I couldn't resist!"

To his great relief, Liz backed away and changed the subject, "And speaking of happy! Would you _look_ at my brother? Have you ever seen that man so entirely _blissful_? In all my life, I have _never_ seen that man so blissful. I didn't even think he was _capable_ of such an extreme level of bliss! Just look at him!" All three sets of eyes briefly regarded Luke. "He's positively euphoric!

"You know," Liz continued, "I even watched him _tolerating Taylor_ for more than thirty seconds tonight! _Taylor_!"

"That _is_ impressive!" Rory said.

"I know," Jess added truthfully, eternally grateful for the reprieve and genuinely enthusiastic about the new topic. His heart still pounded at his mother's recklessness, but not quite so uncomfortably. "And I saw Bootsie telling Luke a joke and not only did Luke _not_ push him arm's length away and abruptly leave, he actually laughed!"

"No!" Rory gasped comically and giggled.

"I know! I saw that also!" Liz added. "He just stood there—right beside _Bootsie_!—and shared a joke! That would've never happened on any other night, certainly not in our school days." They all nodded in agreement.

"What I can't believe," Rory began, "Is how Luke's smile never even wavers when you and TJ cheer _Huzzah!_ every time he kisses my mom. Not even after everyone else started chiming in." She and Liz laughed heartily.

"I must admit that _is_ amazing!" Liz agreed. "No eye rolls, no threats of bodily harm, just Luke and a never-ending grin!"

Jess guffawed. "I think you may have huzzah-ed louder than anyone," he said of Rory.

"Someone had to make up for your distinct lack of huzzah-ing at the head table."

"I was cheering on the inside." The twinkle in his eyes was designed to convey his sincerity in the statement.

Liz declared, "My TJ figures tonight is the perfect time to tell Luke about the big-old, new scratch on the tailgate of his truck—from when TJ borrowed it to haul 90 heads of cabbage to the food banks in New Haven, Hamden and Milford. Mind you, it _probably is_ the best time to tell Luke, considering how _blissful_ the man is, but I told TJ not to press his luck and I've been trying to keep the two separated ever since.

"But, then again, we're _all_ happy tonight, aren't we?" Liz laughed lightly and gestured skyward. " _Oh! By the transit of Venus_ , there's magic in the air tonight! I _feel_ it! I'll admit the punch is potent—Patty and Babette really upped the ante this time—and that's a big factor, but to finally witness my big brother and Lorelai making it official! Your mom…" Liz turned to Rory. "She's like a modern-day fairytale tonight. She shines brighter than a thousand diamonds!"

"She does, doesn't she?" Rory agreed with pride and cheer.

"You _all_ looked so good, standing up there in your finery. My boy cleans up real good." Liz threw an arm around Jess's shoulders again but, this time, all it evoked in him was a roll of his eyes.

"And you, Rory. Your dress is _so_ lovely. It really brings out your eyes. It's like you're glowing!" Only Jess caught the slight look of discomfort on Rory's face, caused by his mother's particular choice of words. Jess fought the urge to palm his face.

"Ah…" Rory laughed weakly. "I doubt that. It's been such a long day. I'm so exhausted!"

"Yes," Jess grouched, happy to deflect the conversation away from Rory's glow (which he had to admit, now that he considered it, was an adequate descriptor), "Guess it doesn't help that you were up all night at that first wedding I _wasn't_ invited to."

"Not this again!" She smiled sympathetically and pleaded, "Jess, Luke _said_ he was sorry! We're _all_ sorry! It was just so spur of the moment."

"You woke Lane," Jess argued, pretending to be more affronted than he actually was. "And doesn't she have kids? Yet you dragged her out of bed. How spur of the moment could it be?"

"She was awake! She was on the porch as we drove by, enjoying some much-needed quiet time _away_ from her kids. She saw Luke's truck, as we were headed to Bingo to find Reverend Skinner, and she called out something about not skipping town because everyone was counting on them and, before you knew it, she was jumping into the back of the truck with us. Luke needed a witness and she was right there, like fate or something!"

"Wait." interjected Liz, standing back to regard their faces thoroughly, "Are you saying that Luke and Lorelai also had a ceremony last night?"

"We sure are," Jess intoned blandly.

"That _sneak_! I can't believe it!" She sighed. "Well actually, I can believe it, when you consider how much my brother loves Lorelai. And clearly he does because, now that they're married, that man is just so _blissful_! It makes sense that he wouldn't be able to wait even one day longer. It was destiny, after all."

"That _is_ the theme of the day."

"Man! I missed my own brother's wedding. He just _let me miss it_!" Liz huffed, shaking her head and somewhat-petulantly scuffing an angered foot against the ground. "Would you excuse me? I've got a bone to pick with him."

"Pick another for me also, Mother, would you?" Jess joked dryly. He breathed a sigh of relief when his mother took off in search of her brother.

"Ah!" Rory fretted. "Now your mom is upset?"

"She'll get over it. It's only a matter of time before she sees the next shiny thing."

He regarded Rory out of the corner of his eye—brow raised in appraisal and a bit of mischief on his mind—finally feeling the _Founders' Day Punch_ pooling in his knees. "Now, myself, on the other hand… I'll never forget. I was _supposed_ to be the Best Man."

"Ah!" A wide-eyed, incredulous Rory tossed her hands up alongside her head. "I know, OK! It just seemed kinder to ask Lane, knowing that she was already awake and we didn't have to wake you."

At Jess's fabricated pout, she added, "And Luke is important to her also. He's the godfather to her kids, you know."

In addition to her frustration and rhapsody, there was a surprising amount of regret in her eyes that Jess couldn't help responding to. He chuckled and admitted, finally feeling guilty about laying it on so thick, "Geez. Relax. I'm just pulling your chain—and mentioning it was a sure-fire way to get rid of Liz."

Her shoulders relaxed. "Oh, well, it was that," Rory agreed, nodding.

He mused, "Not that I didn't want to be there, 'cause I did, but I'll live."

"Well I'd tell you you didn't miss much but you kind of did. It was enchanting."

" _So I hear_ ," Jess's tone warned her to drop the subject and she laughed.

"Hey, I agree! I think you should've been there. But at least you were there for _this_ one and it was pretty perfect also."

"Yeah." Jess glanced over to where Luke and Lorelai stood along the far side of the dance floor, amongst Lorelai's wacky cast of friends. Even now, as Luke was being accosted by Liz, and then as TJ loomed near, Luke smiled warmly. It was exactly as his mother had stated repeatedly: Jess had never seen his uncle look so thoroughly happy, even standing as he was amongst characters who perpetually raised ire in the gruff man.

Then, as Jess bore witness, Luke suddenly swung an arm around TJ's shoulders and gave him an enthusiastic, but friendly, full-out _noogie_. Beside Jess, whose jaw had dropped like an anvil, Rory laughed as she also witnessed it. If Luke had just found out about the new scratch on his truck, it seemed even _that_ couldn't take any wind out of the man's sails.

Jess, once again amazed by the potent happiness of the day (if not the punch), swiveled fully around to watch it all unfold more closely. This time his gaze landed squarely on the shining star of Lorelai.

Though her bright eyes had sparkled throughout the entire event, Jess had personally seen her happiness increase tenfold earlier that day, as he'd overheard Emily Gilmore enthusing to her that everything, "had been just lovely!" Later, he'd also chanced to witness the bride's radiance skyrocket as Emily had joined a circle (formed by Lorelai, Rory, Sookie, Lane and Michel) and the six of them had danced (with comic enthusiasm) to Kirk's rendition of _Can't Stop The Feeling!_

And now, at this particular moment, Lorelai appeared utterly delighted—laughing to near-tears—at the spectacle provided by a grinning Pod-Luke and the ever-buoyant TJ. Jess shook his head in wonder.

Rampant jubilation aside, however, several times throughout the day Jess had caught Lorelai watching her daughter with more subdued curiosity and introspection. Jess didn't need any help interpreting that one. He bit his lip and glanced sideways at Rory.

Jess chugged the remainder of his appropriated punch (with much effort) and then abandoned the glass. He stood.

"Come on," he ceded.

"Where are we going?"

"To dance."

"Really?"

He rolled his eyes. "I guess if I'm going to salvage what's left of my Best-Man-edness, I'm going to have to do whatever typical Best Man stuff is available to me, no matter the cost."

"Oh. Swoon." Rory exclaimed with liberal sarcasm and a touch of warmth. She perched on the stool not quite accepting his offer. Jess chuckled, her response being just what he'd been going for.

"Besides, you're right. I probably promised you a dance all those years ago. 'Bout time I made good on that."

"Well in that case…" She smiled.

She slid off the barstool and led the way.

He followed her to the dancefloor—in his happily lubricated daze, focussing closely on the lone, fallen curl that graced her shoulder—until she turned. With her right before him, he stopped abruptly, raised expectant eyebrows and smiled apprehensively. "I wasn't lying when I said I didn't know the fancy dances."

She smirked as she grabbed his wrists and placed his hands about her waist. Then her own forearms draped upon his shoulders. With little warning, she collected him into her space so that he stumbled and nearly tripped on her foot.

He gasped a laugh and fought the urge to be embarrassed by his inelegance, but she only smiled kindly and suddenly they were swaying to the mid-tempo beat of a song that, thankfully, was not another karaoke selection.

"How have you made it this far in life and never learned the social dances?"

"Have you forgotten whom you're talking to? I've never been the most social guy."

"Hmmm," she agreed gravely. "Always with your nose in a book."

"If that were an obstacle, then however did you learn?"

"Touché."

Jess smirked at the small victory. His hands slid one above the other, earnestly feeling the sweeping curves of her back moving beneath the exquisite brocade of her formal dress, which was made hot by her equally exquisite body heat. The two swayed some more, then graduated to a few modest steps. Though it was not a formal dance by any means, she was most definitely leading him in it, as their pair slowly spun amongst the crowd. As she'd step back in rotation, he'd give chase to close the gap. To his encouragement, she'd return the favour in turn, stepping into his arms on the other side of an indistinct box step, also keeping herself close.

"This is nice," she encouraged him amicably, her smile bright. Her eyelids fluttered shut for a second as she succumbed to the rhythm. "'Bout time I finally got my dance."

Jess cleared his throat. "Yeah," he agreed wholeheartedly.

As she now twisted her torso gently side-to-side, her arms upon his shoulders drew them both into a slow, shared shimmy. Jess smiled as he watched and felt her moves. The muscles of her back writhed, sensuous but simple, calling to his mind a sincere moment but a month earlier, as well as distant memories from their past. Her movements were undoubtedly of the mere _slave to the rhythm_ sort—effortless, uncalculated and celebratory (as they had been the entire night)—and Jess was certain she had no perception of how sexy they also were, though he was acutely aware of the fact himself. But it wasn't her inherent sexyness which pulled him now, Jess realised.

Jess hadn't held Rory since the morning after their indulgence, when they'd stood, in the trickle of morning's orange light, all smiles and gazes, and kissed softly before going their separate ways. With his hands now once again cupping the small of her back, he remembered fondly the feel of them there that morning, once upon a time, as her eyes had sparkled and his heart had been full. He couldn't deny how tremendous it felt to hold her again now, to be in her sphere and give in, even just a little bit, to the intense magnetism he'd felt towards her ever since he'd learned he could be the father to her child. He realised, he wanted to hold her tonight, even if it was just to sway to some music.

But there was _still more_ than that. As his gaze reached out to hers and was met with affinity, and as he found the bond of her eye contact affected him most of all, he knew that his heart raced for more than just their physical connection.

"I would have danced with you at prom," he admitted, knowing it to be true.

She teased, "Would it have been a Vitamin-C- _Graduation_ or an Alice-Cooper- _School's-Out_ kinda moment?"

He smiled, thinking the former too bouncy (a song he remembered only because, being a drop-out himself, its subject matter had been an affront to him) and the latter too head-banging for a guy who had always been decidedly uncomfortable with his dance moves. Autonomous dancing—independent movement apart from her—would have been out of the question, but this… moving as one… would have been just as well-received by his teenage-counterpart as it was by him now.

"Is the punch spiked?" he asked of the theoretical prom, gauging her reaction.

She laughed lightly. "Well, _you're_ there so… I do believe it is."

Satisfied with her response and enjoying the moment, he finally answered with wistful, wry amusement, "I think it would have been a lot like this. Except, of course, if this were us back then, I'd be kissing you by now." She dipped her head back and laughed again and he was happy enough that his response could come across as a cop-out or a joke, rather than any sort of real commentary on the moment they were now sharing.

When Jess's knees felt weak, he knew the punch (and the Scotch he'd enjoyed before that) had really kicked in. But, by that time, her embrace had long become easy and comfortable and Jess didn't worry too much about weak knees impeding his movement upon a dancefloor. When he thought he may stumble, he simply held her a bit closer—taking solace in his ability to do so, in the companionship they'd found in recent weeks—and felt more balanced, more at ease.

"I wish you were wearing shoes right now," he confessed. "The _Founders' Day Punch_ is wreaking havoc on my footing and your toes are in considerable danger."

She tittered. "My feet are far too swollen for shoes tonight. Besides you're doing just fine."

"You lie."

"No. Really," she asserted, punctuating her claim with brief eye contact.

Her gaze and smile were sincere but, as the tentative steps she'd begun leading regressed back into a simple sway, he couldn't help equating (with amusement) her smaller movements with a preservation tactic on her part. Safe within the sweetness of her embrace, however, he was untroubled by her lie.

Somewhere between the song's second refrain and its bridge, things got a little hazy. Now, on the dancefloor, as the orbits of other dancers faded into the background, Jess felt the freeform twists and sways of her body and tuned his own movement to her frequency. As they danced, their sine wave grew more subtle, its ever-decreasing pace testing the mid-tempo limits of the song. Nearly no space between them now—her every breath pressing firmly against his chest, his lips approaching her cheek—he noticed the beat of her heart more than the music. He knew she must be feeling his as well, so strongly it pounded.

As the lights bounced in her hair and he contemplated his steadiness, he thought seriously about what Andrew may have insinuated and what his mother had all but outright asked for. Despite himself, he also remembered Luke's disbelief (even after all this time!) when Jess had told him he was over Rory.

Jess sniffed, a little bit drunk and regrettably emotional, glancing down at her shoulder and the elegant fabric there, now also trying, unsuccessfully, not to remember the staggering image of her in this dress making her way down the aisle—and how his smirk at the time may have appeared casual (he hoped) but the moment he'd seen her, for him, had definitely not been. The dress had never once betrayed her secret, but still her secret was there, now tucked far beneath the splayed fingers and layers of fabric covering the small of her back, wrapped safely within her and the circle of his arms.

Somewhere, in the depths of his being, it felt like the music had changed. He gulped a great, shuddering breath. It was undeniable that, for him, the attraction—physical, intellectual, emotional—was still there. He knew now more than ever that when he'd said, _I will always love you_ , the love he felt wasn't only a reflection of nostalgia. It was still somewhere, alive in him, though he hadn't looked for it in years.

The care for her child... Well, that was new. He'd always ached for Rory's happiness and wellbeing (and always struggled with the best way to provide that for her) but that had never been more true than now, as she embarked on a journey towards motherhood, no matter whose child she carried. The child was an extension of her, intrinsically tied to her happiness and wellbeing, and therefore tied to his as well.

He would tell her all that now, but the words stuck in his throat, feeling (at best) too much like the rambles of a drunken man to come across properly and (at worst) like the inappropriate assumptions of someone who had misinterpreted the boundaries of their relationship.

It wouldn't do to continue this train of thought.

"So, you told her," he assumed out loud to his dance partner, changing the topic. They still held one another closely—enough that, even amongst the raucous party-goers, he barely needed to speak above a whisper for her to hear. His lips had drawn nearer her ear and his senses had found the perfume she'd left there, whimsical and floral.

"Yeah."

"Everything?" Lorelai's eyes that day had never turned towards Jess with any hidden meaning, so he also felt fairly certain he knew the answer to that question.

Not everything." she affirmed and then sighed, "I didn't tell her who else was involved. I figured I should confirm it first. You know, figure out that variable and then tell whomever it is first."

"Right. Give him a head start before Lorelai comes gunnin'."

Rory giggled, "She wouldn't."

"I wouldn't be so sure." Over Rory's shoulder, upon which he placed his palm to guide her closer, Jess sought Lorelai amongst the crowd. With a jolt, he found the elder Gilmore already watching them with an incredulous expression. His immediate reflex was to stand a little straighter from where he had leaned into Rory and school his features—hoping the odd sight of them dancing could be written off as a byproduct of polite obligation, or a festive event with abundant alcohol, and not as this expression of his timeless attraction to Rory that he'd somehow let it become. "Not so sure at all," he murmured.

Rory noticed his retraction. She peeked over her shoulder, found her mother's gaze and waved discreetly. She flashed an uncomplicated smile that impressed Jess, because the situation did not feel uncomplicated to Jess at all. Then, when Rory turned back to him, she wrapped her arms more tightly around him than he thought she would, given their audience, unsettling him further.

But then he realized, it didn't matter if Lorelai suspected he had feelings for her daughter or even if she put two and two together—she'd be justified in all those suspicions. His feelings, and intentions, were sincere and nothing to be ashamed of. He pushed Lorelai out of his mind and relaxed back into Rory's arms. They were once again cheek to cheek, and he soon eased into that as well, though still not quite as deeply as he'd let himself before.

"So when can we find out whose…?" Jess wondered.

"I have an ultrasound booked next week," she spoke quietly. "Given the timeframe we're dealing with, I'm told they should be able to tell us whose… The margin for error is supposed to be small, like within a few days—"

The volume of her voice dropped considerably when she whispered in his ear, "So DNA testing probably isn't necessary but… we can do that if you want—next month maybe."

"No matter what happens, If you ever need any help... You know, with the b—" he stopped himself from saying the word _baby_ too loudly in public, though no one seemed to be in their immediate vicinity and his speech was likewise quiet and close to her ear.

"You know. Your book..." he amended, his voice rife with symbolism. "I hope you know you can ask me. I mean... I'd love to help you with actual _publishing_ , uh, in general...but...also… you know. If you need it."

"I appreciate your offer to help with the book. And publishing also." She dipped herself back, lending a new dynamic to their rhythmic sway, and her eyes twinkled at him.

"Besides, morally, as a concerned citizen, I feel I should take a vested interest," he teased beneath his breath, trying to lighten his somber tone. " _Somebody_ has to put real food on the table. Kid's not going to get a square meal from your side of the family."

"Luke _has_ conveniently married in, you remember," she joked.

He nodded. "Yes. But—" He sighed at the futility of making any sense and tried to wrap up his sentiment, "I know you have Luke and Lorelai, and they'll be instrumental, and lifesavers, and _whatever_ but… I just want you to know... you have me also, if you ever need it. I mean, you said before that you wanted to do this on your own but it doesn't have to be like that. It shouldn't be."

She stressed, "I know that now, Jess."

"Even if I'm not…" He smiled wryly, realizing that this was exactly the overstepping of boundaries he'd wished to avoid, then shook his head. "At the very least, I've got some serious book-buying skills and I need a reason to start another collection." He didn't let on that he'd already mentally listed about twenty books that a young reader should have.

More like a serene hum, she laughed lightly. "I'm not sure you ever needed an excuse to collect books."

"But if it's more…" he went on, his voice barely louder than the pulse of the music, "If I'm it… then I'll be around. I wouldn't miss it. We'll figure out that co-parenting thing."

"Look at you throwing around terms like co-parenting," she continued in hushed tones, meeting his gaze more seriously now.

"I may have read that somewhere."

"You get lost in the self-help aisle?"

" _No_ ," he denied emphatically, looking down at the glinting necklace that graced her neck as she laughed.

But then, having nothing to really lose, he admitted, "Not yet anyway. I wouldn't buy anything like that in _this_ town, the way word gets around. Let's just say, the search history on my phone is also something I won't be sharing with anybody any time soon."

"Wow. You can talk about co-parenting _and_ you own a smartphone? Who are you and what have you done with Jess?" she teased, observing him from a new angle.

"Come on, Rory," he murmured calmly. "It's not like we haven't grown up."

His words proved sobering. The last vestiges of humour dropped from her face and her sincerity emerged, matching his. "I'm just impressed that you gave it so much thought."

"You thought I wouldn't think about it?"

"Well…" she admitted. "Not this much." He nodded.

"I never thought about it before. Not seriously," he whispered honestly, taking a deep breath and then gritting his teeth. "But _now_... that it could happen..? I wasn't asleep last night during the first ceremony... I was up _real_ late—staring at the grubby ceiling in the room where we may have created this fate—thinking about it. And I wasn't just dusting the bar with my sleeves earlier either."

"Oh," Rory murmured.

"Kirk was singing karaoke earlier and do you know what it reminded me of?"

Rory shook her head.

"Pippi Longstocking," Jess said severely.

Rory laughed at the non-sequitur. "What?"

"You love that movie."

"Yeah..." she ventured.

"So no doubt the kid's gonna wanna watch that movie."

"Well sure. I'd encourage it."

"But kids watch things _ad nauseam_. Luke bought _Pippi Longstocking_ for Doula a while back—special thanks to you and your mom for _that_ idea, by the way. And I happened to have the misfortune of visiting and it was like that _damn_ movie—with its insidious, rosy, _acutely annoying_ sing-alongs—was stuck on repeat the _entire_ time! They didn't even shut it off after Doula fell asleep. Like they were too sapped out to do anything about it. I had to get out of there." Jess had never been so happy to leave Doula in the care of Liz and TJ as he had been at the end of that weekend.

His eyes darted around briefly, confirming there were still no eavesdroppers close enough to hear his words. He whispered, "But, with my _own_ kid, escape isn't an option. I'm gonna end up watching that movie again, aren't I? Tell me, is it disruptive to a child's sense of self to drown out the sing-songs with Iggy or the Ramones? Is it wrong to compete with your own child in a battle of speaker volume?"

Rory had covered her lips with her delicate fingers but now her incredulous laughter over his dire straits burst through.

"I mean seriously!" He began whispering again, in actuality partly amused by his own freakout and only slightly agitated, "And what about _college_? Dating? _Diapers_ and _spit up_ and having to resort to extortion just to get some _fucking vegetables eaten!_ What about having to drag someone out of bed and off to school every _single morning_? The irony there is not lost on me, by the way.

"If it's a girl, I'll worry about teenage boys and, if it's a boy, well... I'd worry about other people's daughters also. I worry—" he struggled with the words. "About how it will be with... _us..._ being the way we are. How we have this… odd sort of relationship."

"Geez, you really have thought about it."

"Yes. Also _ad nauseam_."

"It's not going to be all bad, you know."

"No. I know… I—" he shrugged dismissively. "I think about good things also."

"Like?" she whispered, hanging far too much off his words.

He swallowed hard and dove right in. "Like... sitting up in the branches of that really big tree beside Larson's Pond—you know the one—with a little kid leaning against my side, and we're sharing a storybook together... I think about taking you both to the Jefferson Market Library. We never went there, that time you visited me in New York, but I loved it when I was a kid and I wanna show you. I wanna show both of you. I even think about the never-ending stream of tedious shindigs and fundraisers this town puts on, and how even the worst of those would be magic through the eyes of a child."

He smiled as they, almost imperceptibly, continued to sway. "I think about first steps and first words—and the first library card and all the _big responsibilities_ that go along with having one—and I remember all the times I've ever overheard a little kid on the subway saying something so _ridiculously adorable_ that I can't help but share a smile with total strangers.

"I think about discovering his or her personality, learning a little bit more every day... someone a little bit you, a little bit me..." His smile faltered briefly. "Well, maybe..."

"Oh, Jess," she fretted softly.

"No!" His smile was back, along with complete sincerity. "I'm _excited_ for you. And maybe a little bit for me. And it doesn't even really matter if I'm not— _Don't worry_ about me if it's just— I'll be excited for _you_."

Her eyes were wide and glossy. "Yeah? I'm pretty scared actually."

Jess nodded and swallowed back the lump in his throat. "Yeah. I get it." He wrapped her up snugly, his palm finding her shoulder and his lips finding the loose lock of her hair and pressing it against her temple, as they continued to rock, to and fro, upon the wooden floor. "Me too. But we'll figure it out. You're not alone in this. No matter which way it turns out."

"You keep saying that."

He closed his eyes and grunted with frustration at his struggle for words. "I blame the _Founder's Day Punch_ and a serious lack of sleep. I'm not sure if I'm expressing myself clearly right now."

"You are. And _really_ , I'm touched." Her breathing was deep and purposeful, as she widened their embrace and he welcomed her gaze right into his soul. "I really believe you."

His heart pounded. "You _should_. I'm gonna do my best, Rory. I promise."

If at all possible, it seemed they'd struck an even stronger accord. Her voice, flowing like golden honey, acknowledged the sincerity of the moment as she offered, "Thanks, Jess."

He shrugged, sheepish and sincere, and lost himself in her eyes. There was no other way he could be.

Rory drew him back into her arms then and, as her eyes glistened and his heart swelled, as the music changed and their dance came to an end, she laid petal soft lips upon his cheek.

/-\\\\\/-\\\\\

 **A/N: This chapter went _a lot_ differently than I'd planned. I hope that I didn't lay it on too thick with the drama. ;) Also, this was going to be the last chapter and I was going to hold fast and true to the cliffhanger concept but I couldn't resist the forthcoming epilogue. Though most of it does leave room for interpretation and you can infer whatever you like, I know how I would want this future to play out and it probably shows through. I'll leave you now to plot out your own fantasy's course or, if you'd like to come along with me in mine, then stay tuned...**


End file.
